Eye of the Beholder
by WeeIrishLass
Summary: It's Emily Weasley's fourth year at Hogwarts. When she sees something that wasn't meant for her eyes, she is thrown into the world that her parents tried so hard to keep her from. It's up to her father to protect her. Hogwarts: The Next Generation Series
1. Preface

**Author's Note:**** Yes, _Making Shade_ is complete! I'm so glad that you all enjoyed it, and I really appreciated the positive reviews. I'd like to introduce my new story, entitled, _Eye of the Beholder_ starring Emily Grace Weasley in her fourth year at Hogwarts. This is the second of four in my "Hogwarts: The Next Generation" series. Now, on with the story! Don't forget to review! **

**A/N²:**** Just a brief mentioning that the symbol of ***↔* **means that the point of view is switching from Emily to Ron or vice versa. Had a little too much fun with that one, didn't I?  Hope that this keeps confusion to a minimum. **

**Disclaimer:**** Harry Potter and Co. is the intellectual property of Ms. JK Rowling. **

Eye of the Beholder 

_Preface_

Photography is my favourite form of visual art. A brief moment in time can be etched to film and stored away forever; generations to come can relive memories that were far before their time.  

Seeing is _not_ always believing. What you see is _not_ always what you get. Your eyes can betray you, and with that brief blink, it's too late. A sight-good or bad- is etched in your memory, ready to be unearthed on command- by a smell, a word, a sound, a sight, a taste- and has a nasty habit of re-entering your mind when you least expect it, and at the most inopportune times. 

No one ever thinks that the blinking of an eye can change his life. I didn't, that's for sure, especially in the middle of my Hogwarts years. I had friends, I had a reputation, I had Quidditch, and I had art. Everything was going just fine, and then, _bang!_ My life changed just that quickly. 

I never asked to see what I did. 

Sight, to me, is both a blessing and a curse.  Memory is a menace and a haven. The experience in the summer between my third and fourth year wasn't something that could be changed. It had to happen, and is now ineradicably in my mind's eye. I used to wish with all of my heart that it would go away, but not anymore. It's a blessing, yes. It helped me discover who I am- who Emily Weasley is- and changed my life in a way that I would never want to take back. Yet, the paradox continues, because it's also a curse.  It took away my innocence, and my childhood was lost to me from that moment on. There was no going back, and that scared me; it scared me more than anything- even more than what I saw. 

Art is in the eye of the beholder. One time, I remember that I was very frustrated with an oil painting that I'd been working on. I couldn't tell you what the hell it was that I was painting, but I must have wiped that canvas clean at least three or four times before setting it aside and starting a new one- an abstract. It was a total blend of colours and shapes, with no form or meaning. When I looked at it, I saw utter frustration on canvas. 

When Mum saw it, however, her opinion of it was much deeper. She saw life that lacked vision, ambition and individuality. She saw the lack of colour scheme as a lack of uniqueness, a way to blend in with the crowd.

Landon said that he saw utter chaos. 

Dad's was the closest on target. He said that he saw frustration and disappointment; that I had gotten fed up with my other painting and this one was merely a form of venting. 

Dad and I had always been a lot alike. We even saw art in the same way- not trying to find a deep meaning for it, but taking it a face value without even giving it a benefit of a doubt. Our personalities were naturally outgoing and funny, which is kind of sad. I don't try to be funny-it just happens and people find my life to be hysterical. We both have a nearly insane obsession with the Chudley Cannons (they _will_ win the Championship this year).  We were both good natured, loyal, and honest. Of course, I've got that explosive temper, as well. I loved my Dad almost more than anything, I think, and he was my biggest role model. People sometimes say that my modelling Dad is rather strange when I have Mum and Landon to look up to. 

The difference between Landon and I is that I say what I'm thinking. I'm sure that Landon's got an inner cynic, even if it never shows. That's why he never gets in trouble, and I do. I say without thinking of how it might affect someone, or something. Maybe it's a psychosomatic thing to get attention- I was always rather passed over. 

Life is a matter of perspective. Nothing changes about a Van Gogh painting, only how you look at it, just like your outlook on life with affect the way you live it. 

Sight, to me, is both a blessing and a curse.  Memory is a menace and a haven. Seeing is _not_ always believing. What you see is _not_ always what you get. Your eyes can betray you, and with that brief blink, it's too late. 

*↔*

I wonder, as I have many times in my lifetime, what is it that causes us to do what we do? What is that 'gut feeling' that often lends its' aid when it is time to make a hard decision? Could it be The Fates that so often played a part in Greek mythology, or is it a conscience in the form of a little bug that will occasionally pop up on your shoulder? 

Perhaps, and most likely, it's experience nagging you and pulling at your heartstrings, just like Hermione does. She is quick to remind our children (and me, at that) "do you remember what happened the _last time_ that you did that?" Landon, Emily and Jack would shake their heads solemnly, with wide eyes in horrid recollection of a burnt palm, a bumped head, a lost pet or a bad grade (in Landon's case), and then opt to do either exactly what their mum had warned them against or exactly what they wanted to do. Usually, what they wanted to do would result in a burnt palm, a bumped head, a lost pet, or an A minus (once again, in Landon's case). 

I was so used to having to make tough decisions for my children, as any father is, I suppose. It was a very hard thing for them not to be dependant on me any longer, but it was something that I had to get used to. I also had to get used to their decisions leading them into trouble, and had to accept the fact that they were growing up and it was something that they just had to go through. I hated that part of parenting- letting go. 

If I had been protective of Hermione, which I sure as hell was (and am), I was doubly so with my children. It was quite a different experience when I caught boys looking at Emily than when I caught them looking at Hermione (when we were younger, obviously). When Emily was the object of visual amusement for a certain boy, I had a strong urge not only to kill him, but gouge out his eyes (as well as the eyes of every boy between the ages of thirteen and twenty-one), simply because experience allowed me the 'luxury' of knowing exactly what was going on in their mind. With Hermione, on the other hand, I wanted to kill him not only to prove somewhat of an ownership over her, thus boosting my ego, but so he would stop thinking what he was so I could continue thinking the exact same things without the distraction of someone else mentally undressing her. I could mentally undress her myself, thank you very much. 

A new sense of responsibility came with fatherhood, as well as new depths of love. Love, so I discovered, was not to benefit yourself in any way, but should be completely selfless as every fibre of your being longs to make that other person happy. My children, in this case. I want with all of my heart for them to be happy and content, safe and protected, successful, and to experience the same kind of love that I feel for them and Hermione. When any of those four things are threatened, I get madder than Emily does when the Cannons lose. Nothing stands in my way anymore, and nothing matters- only my children and the insurance of their well-being. 

And I mean _nothing_. 


	2. Chapter I

Chapter I: _Can't Buy Me Love…_

_Emily…_

Waking up is hard to do. Especially when your seven-year-old brother lends his aid by jumping up and down on your bed, pulling the covers away, and showing no mercy in his screaming. 

Welcome to 'La Casa Loca'. 

 I pushed Jack out of my room, and ran him right into Dad, who was fully dressed, despite the early hour. Who in their right mind would be awake and dressed this early during the summer? Certainly not Dad under any normal circumstances, but today wasn't a circumstantial day. 

Today was voting day in the election for the next Minister of Magic, and Mum was the top candidate, running against Bob Guinn. No doubt Mum was up and bustling about downstairs already out of nervousness. 

Robert Guinn was a veteran politician. His father had been second in command to Cornelius Fudge, and it had been assumed that he would have taken over the position after Fudge's death. But no, that position went to Arthur Weasley. This may be the second time that a Guinn would lose to a Weasley. Everyone was hoping for it. Gramps (as I affectionately called him) was hoping to bequeath his role to his unspoken favourite daughter-in-law. It would be an occasion to remember. 

We were having a party at our house today. Mum didn't organize it, but her campaign manager- a very young, spirited, vivacious Hogwarts grad named Juliet Duncan. It was for the entire Weasley family (minus Gramps, of course, for obvious political reasons), family friends, Mum's benefactors, avid supporters- conveniently VIPs, campaign team, and volunteers. Of course, it was a perfect day, but the location…tons of people would be at La Casa Loca today. 

Fortunately, I wasn't one of them. Thank you, Kyle. 

Kyle was one of my best friends. He, Rachel, Meg, Tom and I had been best friends at Hogwarts since our first year. Rachel and I, obviously, were friends much longer, and I met Kyle when I joined the British Mini Quidditch Team (we were a world-class team, thank you very much. Don't let the name persuade you otherwise).

Anyway, Kyle's cousin, Will Tucker, is transferring to Hogwarts this year. Will's Dad and Mum are divorced. While his mother lives in San Diego, California, Mr. Tucker is a world-class businessman, who is never in one place for more than a year at a time. Will's parents' custody situation is kind of weird. They switch on and off at one year intervals. He's lived in San Diego with his Mum, obviously, but also Tokyo, Cairo, New York, Tel Aviv, Chicago, Moscow, Venice, Sydney, Paris and tons of other places. This year, his Dad's in London, so Hogwarts is the obvious school of choice. Since Kyle is already settled, Mr. Tucker thought that it might be a good idea if he get to know some kids before school started, to he told Kyle to invite some of his friends to spend a day on the yacht in the Mediterranean sea. 

All right, can we say spoiled little rich boy? 

But hey, I wasn't above getting to see my friends and spending a day on a luxury yacht. Tom, unfortunately, had a wedding to go to and couldn't get out of it. But the three of us girls were going with Kyle, all right. 

Meg and Rachel, having boys on the brain, were automatically fighting over flirting rights while pondering just what his accent might be like. I personally didn't care. I just hoped that he knew something about Quidditch. Otherwise, I'd be bored. 

I glanced at the grandfather clock in the hallway- the clock that actually told the time. It was just barely nine a.m. and I was awake already. This was torture. I decided that since it was morning I should probably exercise Lady while it was cool. 

I slipped back into my room, and pulled on riding pants and T-shirt before grabbing my camera and leaving my room. Sure enough, Mum was totting around like a crazy woman, which she was, and barely gave me a second glance as I walked outside. She was too busy speaking with Juliet about something or other. 

She caught sight of me before I walked outside, though. 

"G'morning, Emily," she said. 

"Morning, Mum," was my weary reply. 

"Emily, dear," she said, causing me to stop in the doorway, "could you please remember to leave your riding boots in the stable? Today's very important dear; I don't want manure all over the house."

"Sure, Mum." 

"Oh, and Emily?" 

"Hmm?" 

"What time are you leaving with your friends?" 

"Not until eleven thirty. I'll be back by four." 

"All right. Make sure that you invite them in. We'll have plenty of food, so it's perfectly fine if they'd like to help themselves." 

"Sure. I'll make sure that Mr. Tucker votes for you, too," I said with a wink as I turned and walked out into the crisp summer air. 

Over the years, the Ministry had abandoned its' typical British Monarchic system and adapted the American Democratic system when it came to inaugurating a Minister. They found that it suited everyone much better in most respects- if you didn't want to serve as Minister, you didn't have to. Lord knows that not everyone is a natural leader- how could they uphold an entire country? Also with the Democratic system, the Magical People had at least some say in what was going on in their government. 

I stopped in the middle of the backyard, and slowly brought my camera to my eye. Photo ops _never_ passed Emily Weasley by. A robin was feeding her small, chirping young their breakfast of a lovely earthworm. All right, so maybe it wasn't exactly the most pleasant thing to look at- you know, eating something grubby and slimy that had just come to the ground- but I thought that it was sweet. Perhaps I'd put that on canvas one day. Or perhaps I'd find something better to shoot and save me the embarrassment of signing my name to such a hotel room type painting. 

I continued my stroll to the stables. The horses and stables came with the new house that we had bought six years ago. It was one of the perks, but more or less, I still wasn't terribly fond of the huge manor. It was so large and impersonal. I think that my parents had their reasons for moving here, (reasons which they never told Landon and I) and felt the same way as we did. They tried to make it homier, and it did work to some extent, but the cold stone exterior just didn't do much to help that outlook. Landon and I would have much preferred living in our old house. It was large, (not that we really needed large) homey, personal and just…better. 

The wooden stable door swung open, letting sunlight into the musty barn. Straw on the ground crunched beneath my feet, and I was met with the sound of braying horses. I slipped on my riding boots before snapping leads to the halters of the horses, leading them one by one out to the pasture. Before I rode Lady I cleaned the stalls (with magic, of course), and put more feed in. I got my horse tacked up, climbed up and we were off. 

We trotted into the woods on the paths that Dad, Landon and I had made, and down to the stream. Not being able to stop myself, I pulled the reigns so that Lady would gallop straight towards a log. She jumped it with little effort. Riding a horse was similar to riding a broomstick…if you wanted to stretch it. 

"Oh come on," said a voice from behind me. "You can do better than that."

"Oh, yeah?" I asked, turning Lady to face my father, "Let's see you try." 

"Oh, no," he said, shaking his head with a smile. "Horses hate me. Dragons are fine, but horses are an entirely different story." 

"Aw…Daddy's a coward…" 

"Get off, I'll show you how it's done." 

It was a wonderful still frame- Dad being thrown from the horse and flying through the air only to land in the stream. It was slightly off centre, though, because I was laughing so hard. 

"Oh, so that's how it's done, eh Dad?" 

"Shut up," he said with a smile as he wiped mud from his eyes. "I told you, it's not my fault. Horses hate me." 

I laughed at him again, snapping a shot of him smiling sadistically and dripping wet. 

"Come on," he said to me, "Your mum needs you back at the house." 

"Why?" 

"I don't know; she's entirely too stressed out, so anything that you could do to help would…well, help." I swung my leg up and over onto the horse, and rode back slowly as Dad walked alongside. 

"So…erm…" he said, rubbing the back of his neck. It seemed as if it were paining him to say what he had to say, and I was enjoying it. "Erm…who are you going out with today?" 

Ah…boys.

"Well, you know, just the gang." 

"Oh," he said. Yes, it was definitely about boys. Whenever Dad got like this, I couldn't help but want to laugh in his face. His ears were turning red now, which was all the better. "Are…erm…who _is _the gang, exactly?" 

"Oh, you know. Everybody." I couldn't stop myself from smiling. It was a good thing that he was staring at the ground, or else my huge smile would have given it all away. 

"Right…but…right." 

…

"Emily, are…erm…boysgoingtobethere?" 

"Well, of course, Dad. You know, this is all so we can meet Kyle's cousin, Will. Of course boys are going to be there. Tom can't come, though. What a pity…" 

Of course, I had no attraction towards Tom; I had just learned from my relatives (namely Uncle Charlie and my twin uncles) at a very early age how to push all of Dad's buttons when I really wanted to. 

Dad coughed uncomfortably. "Erm…yeah, pity." 

"And I was really looking forward to showing off that new two-piece bathing suit that I bought with Rachel." 

And the final straw snapped in bloody half.

"Young lady, you will _not_ be traipsing out of this house half dressed in front of boys!" he said, ears and face terribly red. He was oblivious to my hysterical laughter, though as we approached the stable.

"Don't worry, Daddy," I said, sliding off the horse and giving him a kiss on the cheek, before turning and snapping a picture of his shocked face, "You're the only boy for me." I led Lady back to her stall, leaving Dad standing there, shocked as ever that he had just been duped by his daughter. 

Ron… 

I walked from the stable back into the house, shaking my wet head at Emily. She got more and more like Hermione every day. Only my wife could ever make me that upset while being completely insincere about what she was saying. Now that Emily had learned that trick, I was done for.

Hermione was still buzzing around when I walked in the door. Her campaign manager, Juliet, was following her, reading her a list of to-dos, who-to-thanks, and speeches. 

No matter how many times Hermione told me that she wasn't out to win and that she just wanted to make a difference, win or lose, I knew about how competitive she could be and there was no fooling me. She was out for blood in this election. The day was critical, no matter how many times she would dismiss is. She'd have to make speeches all day over WNN to help persuade the last minute voters. Her speeches would have to be perfectly articulated so as not to spur any question about her role as a leader. 

Our little ongoing party wouldn't be starting until eleven thirty, shortly after Emily was leaving, and probably wouldn't be ending until early tomorrow morning, depending on the outcome of the election. Honestly, though, I thought that Hermione's odds were good. 

Guinn was a slime ball and everyone knew it. Well, at least everyone voting for Hermione did. Why, there were rumours that Guinn's own mother wasn't voting for him. I wouldn't have been surprised. His campaign was filled with empty promises and hollow lies. His motives were simply to boost his own ego and better his family name once a 'Mudblood lover' had spoiled it. Yes, anyone who knew about his past knew that his family was somewhat like the Malfoys- only rumoured to be in league with Voldemort, but rotten to the core regardless. 

I was about to go upstairs and wash off from my intentional (cough, cough) fall into the stream, when there was a knock on the door. I was completely unaware as to why someone would be knocking on the door when they could apparate, but then it hit me. Techno guys tended to be squibs. 

The wizarding world had developed quite a different technology over the years. They had adapted Muggle technology as their own, making vast improvements in several areas. Mostly for governmental use, for they found all of the technology to be right down damned useful. Although they would never admit it. WNN was an adaptation of CNN- magic style. Wizarding News Network broadcasted over a blueball flame in the fireplaces of all those connected to the Floo Network. 

"Ron, could you get that, please?" Hermione interrupted Juliet to ask me. 

"Hello," I said, swinging the door open. Dirty men carrying equipment (like I said, usually they were squibs, so even a simple reduction charm was impossible) pushed past me without so much as a by your leave, began setting up in the living room.

"Oh, no, not there!" Juliet crooned. "No, this all has to go in the parlour. Ron, could you show them please?" 

Sure, not like I'm soaking wet and beginning to smell or anything. Not like this is _my_ house and _you're_ the one giving the orders. Still, I didn't want to upset Hermione. She didn't need anything more to be upset by today. 

"Follow me," I said through gritted teeth. But they didn't follow me; they pushed past me, tracking dirt all through the house, and found their way to the parlour on their own. All right, fine. I would just go get in the shower then. If no one needed me, then they wouldn't see me. Take that. 

_Emily…_

Eleven o'clock could not have come faster. First, Mum asked me to help get Jack dressed. The kid was seven, he could get dressed on his own, but no. I had to help him get his _tie_ right. Now, what is that about? I'll repeat, the kid is seven. He's not going to stay in a tie for long, is he? No. So what's the point of putting it on him to begin with? I promptly to Mum this, and I just waited for her to see the error of her ways. Surprisingly, she said that the Gryffindor tie looked cute on him, and showed spirit. If he was going to be in the public eye, than he was going to have to dress right. Whatever. I'll admit, though, it did look cute. 

Then, she asked me to clean up in the living room. The party was going to be outside, I said, why did the living room need cleaning up? She just shot me one of those looks that said 'don't do this in front of the company', if you could consider Juliet family. She was practically an extended sister, now. Albeit, and extended sister whom Landon had the hots for (his girlfriend, Fiona, wasn't all to happy with Mum's choice of a campaign manager). I wonder why we have house elves if Mum makes us do all of the work.

By this time, of course, it was ten thirty. Of course, I'd like to get a shower and perhaps do something with my hair before I leave, considering I've been cleaning, wrestling Jack into a tie and riding this morning. But no, I have to clean my room as well. All right, the living room was understandable. But bedroom? Who was going to go upstairs? 

At ten forty five, I practically dove into the shower, desperate to make a good impression on this potential friend. Tomboy I may have been, but that didn't mean that I didn't like looking nice. My hair was always a wild mess of red curls. It fell just past my shoulders, and was nearly impossible to get a brush through after sleeping on it. A simple drying and detangling spell worked just wonderfully as I ran back into my room and began rifling around for a bathing suit. I had ten minutes. 

Thank you, Rachel. She rang then on the wizard's phone, dying to know what I was wearing. How was I supposed to know? She then went into full detail about her new, shiny red bikini, how she was planning on doing her raven coloured hair, and what kind of makeup she was going to be wearing. She should have known better than to call me. I never wore makeup and my hair had four styles: up, down, half up, braid. Honestly, I didn't care. I just had to find something. 

"Rachel, shut up for a minute and let me think," I said, with five minutes to spare. "Rach, I hate asking you this, but…what am I going to wear?" 

She squealed so loud on the other end that I thought I might go temporarily deaf. 

"Oh, Emily! I thought you'd never ask!" 

"So did I," I said dryly, but I didn't think that she caught it. Good thing, too.

She kept spouting off on the other end, though. "What do your bathing suits look like? I can't remember from last summer." 

"Erm…" I rifled through my closet yet again. "I've got my blue one, and my other blue one, and my green one." 

"Are they two-pieces?" 

"Erm…no."

"I'll be right over," she said, and hung up the phone. I was afraid. Very afraid. 

Within seconds, Rachel was in my room, wand in hand. I had to admit that she did look nice. Whatever she did sure worked. Rachel was a dancer, and it was very evident in her slim figure. She was the object of attention in our year. Despite her extremely skinny body, she was well…erm…filled out. Not like me. No, I was nearly flat. Like a string bean. Mum just said that I was in my awkward stage. Whatever. I'd been in my awkward stage for the past fourteen years. I was kind of tall and skinny- like a stick, almost. That's what made me so good at Seeker- my small build. 

"All right," Rachel said, "Let's get down to business." 

I was still standing there in a towel as she picked up the navy blue suit and her wand, cutting it in half, removing the sleeves, putting a shimmering charm on it, and turning it into a matching version of her suit, only blue. 

"There you are, put this on," she said, handing it to me. I would have protested, but _no one_ defied dancer, soon-to-be model and designer Rachel Potter when it came to clothes. _No one_. 

Surprisingly, I didn't look half bad. The suit did bring out the colour of my eyes, and I had a modestly muscular stomach from all of that Quidditch. 

"Wow, Rach. How'd you do that?" I asked her.

"Do what?" 

"Make me look…normal?" She laughed, and tossed me a pair of capris and sandals. 

"Come on, foxy, let's get out of here," she said, leaving my room. I grabbed a Cannons T-Shirt. Dad would kill me if he saw me wearing this. When we arrived downstairs, we saw Kyle, Meg, and Kyle's father talking with Mum and Dad (Juliet close by, of course). Mum said goodbye to the two of us girls, and we took Floo powder to the Tucker's yacht. We stepped into an elegantly furnished room of mahogany wood and murals of a seascape on the wall. A wet bar stood in the corner, and a mini fridge was behind it. 

"Uncle Rich?" called Kyle. I snorted, although I tried to stop myself. What a fitting name for a rich guy. We walked up on deck, led by Mr. McLaughlin (Kyle's Dad), where a man who had a Captain's hat sitting jauntily on his blond hair greeted us.

"Well, hello, there!" He said, flashing a toothy grin. Although he had a potpourri accent, it sounded as if he were a native to Australia. 

"Hey," we girls said in unison. He embraced his nephew, and shook hands with his brother-in-law. 

"Thanks a lot for inviting us, Mr. Tucker," I said. 

"Don't mention it, kiddo. Now, you must be Emily- Ron and Hermione's daughter?" he said, smiling at me. 

"Yes. You know my parents?" 

"Only heard of 'em; only heard of 'em. I suspect that your Mum's up to her ears in work right about now, isn't she?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Well, tell her that she's got my vote in the bag. So, you must be Meghan Fowler?" he asked, turning to my blond friend.

"Yep," she said, playfully, "but everyone calls me Meg." 

Poor Meg wasn't the brightest person in the world. In fact, she would be a classic ditz. Apparently, Mr. Tucker had once been in business with her father, or something. He then turned to Rachel, and engaged her in a brief conversation about her father. This man was a classic businessman, obeying the number one rule of management: know your clients. 

"Well," he said to us, "Why don't we go see where Willie is, eh? I'm sure that he'll be anxious to meet you girls. Now, your friend Tom, Kyle. He was unable to come?" 

"Yeah," said Kyle, "His sister's getting married." 

"Oh. Well, tell him that I said congratulations." 

"I will." 

He led us around to the back of the ship where a boy of our age with shaggy blond hair was sitting back on a padded seat, his bare feet up against the railing, strumming an acoustic guitar to the sweet sounds of The Beatles. 

"Hey, man!" Kyle exclaimed, having not seen his cousin in years, apparently. Will stood up to embrace his cousin, and I noticed that he was incredibly good-looking. His eyes were a striking emerald colour, much like Uncle Harry's. He was definitely tan, was wearing a bathing suit with typical guy Hawaiian flowers on it, a white shirt and one of those shell necklaces that I'd always found attractive on guys. And he was tall. Taller than me. Sorry about that overly long description there, I just had to get it out of my system. It really was a pity that Rachel had won flirting rights. 

"You like the Cannons?" he asked me, straight off the bat, seeing my T-shirt.

"Yeah. You like the Beatles?" 

"I guess. It's music, isn't it?" 

"Sure. I'm Emily Weasley, by the way."

"Right, your Mum's that politician. Erm…take pictures much?" he eyed the camera slung around my shoulder. 

"I'm an artist." 

"Oh. Really."

"And," said Kyle, "she's also a Quidditch _expert_. Emily's the best Seeker I've seen since Harry Potter!" 

"Really? She's that good? I've never seen _anyone_ better than Harry Potter."

"My Dad's Harry Potter!" Rachel spouted, wanting to get in on this. 

"Hi," said Will, extending his hand towards her. "And you are? Besides Harry Potter's daughter and all…"

"Rachel," she filled in, shaking his hand vigorously. "Rachel Potter."

"And I'm Meg Fowler," said Meg, elbowing Rachel out of the way. This was going to be an interesting day.

"Will!" came a voice from inside the cabin, "Get ready to cast off!" 

"Here," Will said, thrusting his guitar in my hands, "Hold this."  

He ran off to help his father do stuff that I'd never seen before. Not the typical 'raise anchor!' and 'hard to starboard!' stuff, but actual sailor stuff. I hated to admit it, but it seemed as if I definitely had the makings of a crush, here. But so did the two bright-eyed beauties that stood next to me. Kyle went off to help Will and his Uncle Rich, so the three of us girls sat. I strummed on Will's guitar for a bit, not quite knowing what I was doing. I'd always played the piano (Mum made Landon and I learn). 

"Hey, Emily!" Kyle called, throwing a rope. I caught it, and he said, "Run it over there and pull as hard as you can!" 

"Dude!" said Will, Californian side showing, "She's a girl!" 

"No she's not!" Kyle exclaimed. "She's Emily. She plays Quidditch. She's one of the guys." 

I'd show him just how much one of the guys I was. I slipped off my sandals and pulled my T-Shirt over my red hair. Kyle's open mouth was a sign of victory. I took the rope that he threw to me, and 'ran it over' to where he was pointing, pulling hard. Soon, we were cruising on the Mediterranean. It was beautiful scenery. 

"Food!" called Mr. Tucker from the galley. He was bringing it up and setting it on a table, where we all tucked in ravenously. Whatever it was (some kind of sea food-I couldn't quite tell) it was delicious. It was also evidently very expensive. 

Mr. Tucker was very engaging, talking to us about everything. I noticed that when his father was talking, Will looked rather reserved- not speaking, and looking out to sea. 

"What kinds of things are there to do for fun around here?" Mr. Tucker asked. "What do you all like to do for fun? Anything going on?" 

"Well, there's always Quidditch…" I said with a smile at Kyle who returned the smile with a 'thumbs up' (evidently learned from his Californian cousin). 

"Quidditch, eh? Actually, if you'll believe it, I've never seen a game in my life! What's the big game coming up?" he asked. 

"Ireland vs. Northern Ireland," we said in unison. 

"It's a grudge match," Kyle explained, "The coach of the Northern Ireland team, the Shamrocks, he used to be the assistant coach for the Irish-"

"The Leprechauns," I put in.

"Right. But he sold out the Lep's when by selling their strategy to the Shamrocks right before the World Cup last year, in exchange for the Head coaching job. His team lost, sending the Shamrocks to the World Cup but giving him the job as coach of the best team in the league."

"But there was a problem," I said, "Because they had no reason to fire the current Head Coach. So, he then went and took over the job as Assistant Head Coach for the Lep's."

"Ah, I see…" said Mr. Tucker. "Well, how about I get you three-I'm sure that Will would like to come- tickets to see the Leprechauns vs. Shamrocks?" 

Our mouths dropped and eyes grew wide. 

We were offering our extreme gratitude when I saw Will get up and move to the back of the ship (is that the aft?). Hmm…curious. I figured that this kid would need a friend, so while Kyle was still going on to Mr. Tucker about the tickets, I took the soda that I was nursing and followed Will. He was leaning over the railing, staring hard into the blue water, as if to bore a hole in it. 

I came up and leaned on the railing next to him (in a completely platonic way. Seriously, it looked like he was upset).

"Are you all right?" I asked him.

"Yeah." He wouldn't look at me. 

…

"Your dad's nice," I told him. 

"Sure he is," Will replied sardonically, turning and leaning his back against the railing. 

I mimicked his stance. "What makes you say that?" I asked. 

He let out a little snort. "He tries to buy his way into being my father. Whenever I'm with him…he's always trying to…buy stuff." 

"Maybe that's just the way he-"

"No, no it isn't. He's always with one of his girlfriends, he barely even talks to me except to buy me crap when he's home, that is. He's always like this with my friends- you know, Mr. Nice Dad. The Dad that everyone wants. Just 'cause he's loaded," Will said. Wow. 

"Sorry," I said after awhile. "I didn't want to upset you."

"Well, it was a little late for that. I was already upset."

"Oh." 

_Ron…_

It was six o'clock and Emily wasn't home yet. I was kind of worried; she said that she'd be home by three. The party was in full swing, and the thought hadn't crossed my mind until someone commented on it. I wasn't expecting her, four of her friends, and one of their fathers to come through the fireplace as I was about to ring Emily's wizard's cell phone (which doubled as a tracker and security device for underage wizards- an easy way for parents to keep tabs on their social butterflies). 

I strode over, and Harry saw as well, joining me. 

"Hello, I'm Ron Weasley," I said, shaking the adult's hand. 

"Rich Tucker." 

Already didn't like the bloke. He reminded me of Gilderoy Lockhart, who I never liked anyway. This guy smelled like money. Of course, considering that Hermione and I were pretty rich as well, I had no room to judge. But he just looked ready to flaunt and wave around his Gringotts account at a moment's notice.  

It was then that I saw Emily. My mouth dropped open, and I had to silently chide myself that she was growing up and I couldn't embarrass her in front of her friends. I sure as hell wanted to. 

Harry stepped in to speak with the Rich guy, and I turned to Emily, saying, "What the hell are you wearing? Rather, what aren't you wearing?"

"It's just a bathing suit, Dad," she said, begging me and warning me with her eyes to be quiet. "Uncle Harry didn't yell at Rachel for hers." 

Damn Harry. 

By this time, Rich had walked off to change, he said. He emerged from the bathroom five minutes later in an Armani suit, ready to brush elbows with VIPs, so it seemed. I delivered a message from Mrs. Fowler to Meg, and she left immediately via Floo Powder. Harry steered Rachel and Emily to Emily's room to change, and the boys, Kyle and whoever this Will was, immediately made a beeline to the food table where they got into a conversation with Landon and James about the Ireland vs. Northern Ireland Quidditch game to air on MSPN this weekend. 

It seemed then as if hordes of people began flocking inside. When Hermione walked over to me, I questioned her about it.

"It's entirely too wet outside for my taste. Don't know what everyone else is doing, though," she said, with a sly smile. I glanced out the window. It appeared to have begun to downpour without my noticing. 

I turned back to her, and she greeted me with a sweet kiss. 

"What was that for?" I asked her quietly with a questioning grin. Since when did I question kisses?

"Just because," she whispered back, a gorgeous smile across her face. I love it when she does things 'just because'. "Now, if you'll excuse me, we've got wet guests that need attending to."

She walked away, and my eyes followed her. She would be perfect for the job as Mistress- it was evident in her grace and poise around people. She truly cared and wanted to make a difference. This wasn't just some power trip for her. But we would see soon enough. Polls closed in half an hour, and there would be more news coverage until seven thirty, when the new Minister (or Mistress) would be announced. 

I prayed, for all of our sakes, that it would be good news…and that Emily would have more clothes on when she decided to grace us all with her presence again. 

_Emily…_

An hour later, we were all gathered around the fireplace, watching Guinn give his exceptionally long closing statement before the new leader would be announced. We kids booed at the appropriate times, and the WNN techno guys were trying to persuade Mum to do her own closing speech from the parlour, but she refused, saying that she wanted her close friends and family around her as she spoke. Broadcasting equipment was quickly set up in the living room, and Juliet was buzzing around Mum like a bug to light. 

"Five, four, three, two, you're on, Mrs. W," said the man behind the recorder thing. 

"Well, this has been an eventful night to say the least," Mum said with a pacifistic smile on her face. "I'm sure that by now, all of you are resolute in your decisions, and nothing that I do or say will change that. Allow me to say, however, that if elected, I'll act in the best wishes of our government and people. I'll make Magical England a wonderful place for our future generations to grow up, never living in fear. If I'm elected, I'll do the best in my power to lead well. Thank you." 

"And…we're out." 

Sufficiently shorter than Guinn's, to say the least. We teenagers (although I hate the term, it saves me the trouble of giving a list) resumed out positions in front of the sofa to see what would be happening next. 

"Well," said the annoying announcer, Gilderoy Lockhart, "we've heard the closing statements, and now it's time. Mr. Weasley, the envelope, please?" he chuckled at his own joke, flashing a toothy grin, as the shot panned to Gramps. 

Gramps was sitting behind the desk in his office, the emblem of the British Ministry of Magic behind him on the wall. He looked very…political. 

"It's been an eventful evening," he said, with a small smile, not annoying like Lockhart's, "And now, I'm pleased to announce that the votes are in. Robert Guinn-"

We all sighed. "Well, that's it, then," said Mum. "Good show, every-"

"Loses by a landslide to Hermione Granger-Weasley." 

Her mouth dropped open. It took a bit for everything to register. Mum won. She was the Mistress of Magic. 

Dad and Uncle Harry were the first to react. They began to laugh quietly, before it broke out into an all-out roar. Everyone was cheering, and Uncle Fred came in, popping the cork out of a bottle of Dom Perignon, spraying the champagne everywhere. Dad kissed Mum, Uncle Harry hugged her, and one by one, flutes of champagne were passed around…basically, it was officially a riot once the liquor had been distributed. We didn't hear Gramps's speech about what an honour it was to relinquish the position to his daughter-in-law. We were all too busy celebrating. Before we knew it, a shot of all of us, jumping up and down, was being broadcasted on WNN. Mum was in the centre of the shot, sipping her champagne, and celebrating with everyone. She just noticed that she was being broadcasted worldwide, and gave a hasty thank-you-my-opponent-was-worthy speech, before Lockhart's face obstructed the fireplace again. Owls and telephone calls came pelting in. It felt like New Years. 

'La Casa Loca' took on a new meaning. 

**Author's Note: I apologize; this chapter was very… "Teen Moviesque". I didn't want the entire thing to be exposition, and I think of this more as a…second preface. Review, children, review!**


	3. Chapter II

Chapter II: _Eye of the Beholder_

Emily… 

Why is it that people can't just leave well enough alone? So, Mum's the Mistress of Magic, and everyone knows it. What's the need for a ball then? It's the traditional Inaugural Ball, which really is pointless. It's just a chance for people to get all dressed up, reporters to take pictures of famous people, and new styles to be introduced. Why, I don't even think that Mum wanted to go, and this whole ordeal was over her. 

Maybe this whole Ball thing wouldn't be such a big deal if it didn't take days, yes _days_, of preparation. First, I had to buy a dress. Not even a normal dress, this was a fancy one with all the trimmings- pouf, sparkles, lace…ugh. And the worse part is my dress is light green. Mum already got a blue dress, so I got stuck with green. I wouldn't mind, under normal circumstances, but with a big, poufy, green dress like that combined with my _red_ hair, I looked very much like an out of season Christmas tree reject. 

Then, as if it couldn't get worse, you just _had_ to add accessories. Don't ask me why. I think that it's all just some big ploy cooked up by the fashion world to steal all of our money. Third, of course, you couldn't look a knock out if you didn't have good hair and nails, could you? I had to get my hair done, I had to get a manicure, and I _even_ had to endure a pedicure. Why women voluntarily put themselves through this is entirely beyond me. 

Of course, everything seemed to go downhill since Mum was instated. The morning after, I went down to breakfast to find scary looking men dressed to kill in black with those ear things on and wands at the ready. Needless to say, that was a scary experience. Mum introduced them as Unspeakables (the wizarding secret service), Head Bodyguard being Artemis Cooper. Apparently, his twin brother, Atticus, was head of the Magical Technology Department, and also oversaw the majority of security at our house, Mum's office building, the Ministry building, and generally places of importance in the wizarding world- a technological genius, one might say. Going back to Hogwarts this year would be interesting- most likely; my friends would be frisked before allowed on the Hogwarts Express. Platform 9 ¾ would probably be abuzz with security, and my guess was that Landon and I would have to be escorted to school by bodyguards, considering that our Mum had to be in politics and we had no control over our parents' actions whatsoever. How embarrassing. 

Then, as if things couldn't get worse on the home front, I went to wake Landon for lunch the day after the party. I didn't expect to find someone else asleep in bed with him. I nearly went blind, and Fiona was too embarrassed to talk to me (or look at me) the rest of the week. It really was a lucky thing, though. Now, I had blackmail material to keep Landon silent the next time that Snape gave me a detention, which would most likely be sooner than not. 

Of course, when you think things are at the epitome of horribleness, you have people prodding you and pulling your hair, and all of these horrible things that should be done to criminals during their life sentence just to torture them. One Swedish lady, Helga, was yanking my hair so hard that I was crying by the first brushing though; a Chinese lady, Minh, was filing my nails something dreadful- she nearly scraped off the top of my finger while talking to her sister rapidly in Chinese and not looking at what she was doing. Then, as if I didn't feel enough like a Barbie doll, they did my makeup before shoving me into the Yuletide Wonder Monstrosity. In all fairness, though, it was a nice dress. Just not for _me_, considering that I had a strong desire to burn it using only my mind. 

I was so relieved when they were done and I could go downstairs (of course they came to our house. Did you expect the Mistress of Magic to _travel_? Honestly!) with Landon and Fiona (_he_ got a date, but I didn't. Kyle or Tom would have been so much fun!). They were sitting very closely on the couch, and talking quietly. Now, Fiona looked nice- I looked like a powder puff.  They kind of separated when they saw me come in, and a blush that I'd been accustomed to lately crept up on Fiona's cheeks. 

"You look nice, Emily," she told me with a smile.

"This thing itches," I said, lifting the hem to prove my point- my legs was red from scratching. 

"Yes, well keep your scratching to yourself," said Landon, still a little miffed about the bed incident (don't even want to think about it lest my brain combust from such a horrible image). 

I picked up this week's copy of _Quidditch Illustrated_, and flopped down on the couch, reading and itching simultaneously. I looked up when Dad apparated in, having just dropped Jack at Pop and Nana Granger's house. 

"Hey, Dad," I said via catcall, "you're lookin' hot tonight!" 

He smirked at me, unbuttoning the top button of his white shirt. The cummerbund matched Mum's dress, but he downright refused to wear a tie with his tuxedo. If he was going to be dressed up and paraded around like a dog, then he might as well be comfortable, he protested. Mum drew the line when he had put on sneakers, though, insisting that he put on dress shoes lest she leave him for Uncle Harry. That put fear into Dad, although everyone knew just how hollow a threat that was, and he promptly put the shiny black shoes back on. 

"Is your mother ready yet?" he asked us. We shook our heads, no. She was still under the siege of lipstick, blush, eye shadow and curling iron. Poor Mum, she hated having people play with her hair as much as I did. She didn't seem to mind when Dad did it, though. 

Right on cue, Mum rushed down the stairs in a flutter of gown, apologizing for being late and worrying about forgetting her speech. Juliet, who doubled as her personal assistant, came down the stairs behind her offering affirmations of assurance. It seemed as if Juliet was always at our house. She wasn't _always_ there, only when Mum was awake. 

It was actually kind of sweet the way that Dad couldn't take his wide eyes off of Mum. Then, however, he broke the cardinal rule of the Weasley household- public displays of affection in front of the young, naive, innocent and very much _impressionable_ children- when he walked over and kissed her. 

"GAAAH!" came from Landon and I as we covered our eyes. It was an ongoing joke between the four of us. Fiona laughed as Mum and Dad shot the two of us annoyed looks and separated as a small man apparated into the room. We had come to know him as Atticus Cooper. 

Atticus and his twin, Artemis, personified 'fraternal'. While Artemis was the stereotypical bodyguard- insanely built and tall, dark skinned, long black hair slicked back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, earring, menacing goatee and one of those ear talking things, topped off with a killer suit- his twin brother couldn't have been more opposite. Atticus was as short as I (granted, that isn't that short, but I was fourteen, and he was thirty-something), and his once naturally bronzed skin was bleached pale by the glow of computer screens. I was sure that he must be balding as well, because he never took that old and rumpled fishing hat (complete with lures) off of his head. Computer geek, yes, but he looked like he was going camping- that is, if people go camping with pocket protectors and horn-rimmed glasses (complete with tape). 

"Hello, hello, hello!" Atticus trilled, sending a mock salute to his brother, who was standing on the stairs and surveying the room in a state of utter impassiveness. However, he did send a curt nod back to his twin. Artemis took his job _very_ seriously. 

"All right, Ron, Hermione," he said. Although Mum was still just…_Mum_, she was also the Mistress of Magic. All relationships aside, she deserved more respect than that, considering that she ran the Ministry. But Atticus was indispensable and he knew it. He also used it, as well as his naturally buoyant personality, to his advantage. 

"Why don't you two come and sit on the couch for me," he said, setting his briefcase on the table, and unlatching it. "Hey, kiddo," he addressed me with a smile, "Why don't you budge up and let your mum and dad sit here for a bit. And a merry Christmas to you, too." 

I smirked at him, picking up my magazine and moving to an armchair as Mum and Dad sat down where I had been sitting. 

"Ron," Mum said as Atticus rummaged around in his briefcase, "I know we haven't actually done it in…well, never, but you _do_ know how to waltz, don't you?" 

Dad turned to look at her, and it appeared as if he was going through an internal battle: should he find Mum positively breathtaking or should he be annoyed at having to dance? 

"I have to dance?" he finally asked. Although he could dance, and surprisingly well, at that, he wasn't exactly a Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire 

"Well, yes, it's traditional." 

"So, basically, I have no choice, but you're just asking me to make it seem like I do?" He quirked his eyebrow at Mum, and I could see the sides of his mouth twitching into a lopsided grin that got him on "Witch Weekly's Sexiest Wizards Over Forty" list for the past two years (the fact that they moved him onto the 'over forty' list sent him spiralling into a pre-midlife crisis. Mum told us not to laugh at him, but even _she_ couldn't control laughter when he came home sporting an earring one day. We were all very grateful when he got out of that 'I'm older than dirt' phase.). 

"Erm…right," said Mum with a smile. She never missed Dad's grins, and usually was able to spot them in advance. 

"All right!" exclaimed Atticus, turning around from his briefcase to face my parents, "We're set.  Hermione, I'm going to take a small likeness of your eye to get the colouring matched. You too, Ron." He held his wand up to Mum and Dad's eyes, and within two seconds, he had turned back to his briefcase, which had been turned into a makeshift laboratory. 

"What are you doing, Atticus," Dad asked, as his head was tilted back by the small man and drops were being put into his left eye from the tip of the tech's wand. 

"Well," said Atticus, as he moved to do the same to Mum, "This is a little invention that I like to call the Cornea Cam. It's a camera in the shape of a contact lens that allows us to see everything that you two can see in the control station. I took those samples to match the colour of your eyes to the cameras. Tilt your head back again, Ron. DON'T RUB THE DROPS! DON'T RUB THE DROPS!" We all jumped as he screamed the commands at Dad and were shocked at how easily he was able to switch back into mellow mode. 

"Don't blink, now," he said to Dad as he hovered above his face with the Cornea Cam suspended by a pair of tweezers. "This is going to be a bit of a sting at first," he warned as he dropped the lens into Dad's eye. 

"Blink." Dad did as commanded, and immediately, his hand shot to his eye. 

"Bloody hell! What'd you do that for? Sting a _bit_! What the hell's the matter with you?" 

"Sorry," Atticus said, "just a bit of a magical shock. You're next, Hermione," he said, plucking up the brown lens. "Wait…you're not wearing contacts, are you?" 

"Oh, right. Sorry, forgot," she said as she easily removed the small lens from her eye. Of course, _that_ was what was so different about her- the absence of her usual delicate, silver framed glasses. Mum's reaction to the shock was almost identical to Dad's, minus the swearing, of course. 

"Ouch! Why on earth did you have to go and do something stupid like that! That was a bit more than 'a bit'; you could have warned us better!" 

"Sorry," Atticus said, sheepishly as he put drops of a soothing potion into their eyes. They blinked, trying to get used to the feeling. 

"All right, now that that's taken care of…" he lifted two things that looked like index fingers from his briefcase. 

"Right or left handed?" he asked Mum. 

"Right." 

He slipped it onto Mum's left hand index finger, and it immediately conformed to the slender shape of her finger, manicured nail and all. 

"If you feel uneasy, like you're in danger, at any point in time during the evening, just put pressure on your fingertip. It will alert us in the control booth. Remember though, it's better to be cautious than dead."

They both nodded as Atticus slid the mould onto Dad's left hand index finger as well. Artemis answered a knock on the door, and turned to us. 

"The cars are here," he said, curtly. Uncle Harry, Aunt Ginny, James (Charlotte on his arm) and Rachel appeared in the doorway, all equally dressed up. Rachel squealed in delight over Mum's gown, and a little less squealing was heard when she eyed me from head to toe. I was just waiting for her to burst out with a rousing rendition of 'It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas', but I silenced her with my icy cold glare.

For some insanely odd reason that I really couldn't even begin to wonder about, we took flying limousines to this ball thing. Not like Floo powder is easier and less time consuming or anything. We kids did get our own, though. That was fun. James and Fiona were very upset to find that the mini-bar was empty; Charlotte and Landon, however, appeared scandalized that they would even think such a thing.  

This stupid ball reminded me too much of the Academy Awards (we had a Muggle television, too). There was even a red carpet and people snapping pictures of the pretty dresses for them to turn up in tomorrow's fashion magazines and tabloids. Of course, mine would show up on the _Dervish and Banges Holiday Catalogue_, which would conveniently show up just after the fall term started, plastering me, complete in all Yuletide Splendour, all over the Common Room. 

We pulled up last- how clichéd. The doors were opened for us, and James stepped out first, Charlotte on his arm. Landon and Fiona followed, and then Rachel stepped out. Reporters immediately flocked to her. I mean, why wouldn't they? She was gorgeous, and had already earned herself cover pages on _TeenWitch_. I was left without many people taking pictures of me- I'm not sure if it was the dress, or the hair (although photographers loved taking pictures of Aunt Ginny), or maybe my lack of…a feminine figure. Whatever it was, I was left by myself, more or less. That was, until, a reporter from _Quidditch Illustrated_ started talking to me, alerting all of the reporters who weren't able to get through to Landon that I, also a daughter of the Mistress of Magic, was present. I then realized how nice anonymity was. 

I stood stock still, smiling occasionally as flashes were going off around me. The _Quidditch Illustrated_ reporter was the one that I answered the most. He was asking questions about my goals and when I was going to take England up on their offer to play. I was told that the offer was under the table, and was completely shocked when I was asked about it. 

_Inner poise…_I reminded myself, once again grateful that Rach had forced me to read/watch _Bridget Jones's Diary _(although I would never tell her that)_._

"When I'm put on the draft list," I said, with a pacifistic smile. I actually got a few chuckles, but was quickly ignored when the last chic limousine pulled up. Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny stepped out first. Uncle Harry, as always, was immediately bombarded, assaulted and harassed by over-zealous reporters. When Mum and Dad stepped out, however, attention immediately shifted to Mum. 

_Ron…_

"We're out," I whispered into the small microphone implanted into my cufflink. And my children thought that I was retired. Actually, the only ones that knew I wasn't were Hermione, Harry, Artemis and Atticus. I was still an Unspeakable, working in the Department of Mysteries with Harry. Up until a few weeks ago, Hermione had completed our team, adding an intellectual prowess that was irreplaceable. Now, as the Magistrix, she was involved in everything. 

I was amazed, yet again, by my wife. She handled everything in stride, which is more than I could have done, had I been in her position. As we walked inside, she greeted the bigwigs, smiled for photographers (I could already see the disdain in their eyes when their sight fell on my lack of tie), politely answered the questions of the journalists, posed for fashion magazines (she was breathtaking that night), and complied with the wishes of the Unspeakables. And this was all before we were even ushered into the ballroom. 

Finally, though, the doors were opened, and I escorted my wife down the stairs. At the head table with us were our children, Albus, Sirius, and the Potters. It was a well-known fact just about everywhere how close our families were, despite the blood tie. It was almost clichéd- three best friends all ending up in the same family. Dinner was served, but none of us got much to eat. What with reporters from every magazine on the face of the planet (including _Quidditch Illustrated_ for Emily), politicians asking Hermione's view on the most trivial things that I've ever heard in my life (even more so than the liberation and unfair treatment of house elves), and over attentive waiters, we were barely able to get a word in edgewise to each other. 

Emily stood up once she was finished with her dinner and moved to the outskirts of the room where I saw her talking to a boy. That, in and of itself, was infuriating. But then, she had the nerve to _laugh_.  Needless to say, I was a little…put out.

_Emily…_

They had _finally_ let us go inside, although we weren't even _completely_ inside, even then. I made my way to the outside of the room to keep out of the stampede to talk to famous people. I found that they had set up chairs, and my feet were very pleased as I sat down. 

"Someone sitting here?" asked a voice.

"No." 

"Oh, hey." 

I turned to look at whom it was who was talking to me. "Oh!" I said, surprised to see Will. "Hi. What are you doing here?" 

"I was dragged here by my Dad and this weeks' girlfriend. You? Oh, wait…"

I laughed. "Yeah, I kind of have to be here." Of course, it was kind of awkward. I'd only met the guy once, and even then, it had been under rather strained circumstances.

…

…

"All right, then," I said, "They're letting us inside, now. I guess I'll see you later?" 

"Yeah, later." 

Honestly, how was I going to survive an entire year with this bloke? 

Dinner was excruciatingly boring. Everyone decided to stop by and ask questions over stupid things like the cohabitation habits of Sudanese slugs. I picked at my meal, not being very hungry at all. This dress was kind of compressing my airflow, resulting in light-headedness such as that when I've been flying around in circles looking for the Snitch too long. I saw Will move to the edge of the dance floor that our tables were surrounding, and decided to join him. 

"Hello," I said, walking over to where he was.

"What do you think made the Beatles so awesome? I mean, they had bad haircuts, their lyrics are shallow, their songs had four chords, and, come on, three guitars and a trap set? That's hardly music. But…the Beatles! I mean, man, they were awesome- a phenomenon!" 

I stared at him for a moment, before saying, "What, do you just sit around thinking about that stuff? Who does that? You have _way_ too much time on your hands." We laughed for a bit, before lapsing back into that uncomfortable lull.

"So, what's Hogwarts like?" he asked me.

I smiled. "Hogwarts is…wonderful."

"Details?" 

"What do you want to do?" 

"Erm…how many people are there?" 

"Erm…perhaps, three hundred students? But there's usually only forty in a year, and seventy in a house. Give or take, of course."

"House?" 

"Gryffindor, the best, of course, Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Hufflepuff."

"Oh. You're in Gryffindor, then?" 

"Yep." 

"Oh." 

The lights dimmed. That was our cue to go back to our seats, as the speeches were going to start. Everyone who was mingling made their way back to their seats. I took my seat next to Landon and sat back as Gramps got up to give his succession speech. 

Gramps's speech was sufficiently boring, as I'd expected it to be. A bit of well-placed humour lightened the mood, but it didn't do much to ease the boredom. He talked about all that had been accomplished while he was in office, and how eager he was to watch the government develop through the hands of his daughter-in-law. 

"Throughout the years, the Ministry has been able to do many great things. I am grateful to have been apart of them," Gramps was saying.

This dress was too itchy. I was very aware of it, as I began fighting the urge to scratch. One time, I leaned down just to delicately itch my ankle, but Mum shot me a look, clearly saying that it was not a good idea.  Dad kind of smiled and shook his head, but then averted his attention back to his father, who was still talking. 

I stole a glance to the door, wondering if after Gramps' speech I could make a run for it. I could go to the bathroom and scratch to my heart's content, and then sneak back in when Mum's speech was over. It sounded like a plan, as soon as Gramps was done. 

Ron… 

Hermione was getting nervous. I could tell by the way that she was twisting her napkin on the table and by her lips, nervously moving as she reviewed her speech for the umpteenth time in her head. I'd seen her go through these motions before- any time we'd ever had to take a test, whenever she was nervous about telling me something, or whenever she was pressed for time. It was one of those adorable traits that she'd had when we were younger that eventually won me over.

It was those small little quirks that made me love her so much, I think. Just like art, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Though many people wouldn't classify Hermione as 'beautiful' per say, I think that she's gorgeous, breathtaking, ravishing. What had started out in our fifth year as a superficial physical attraction had blossomed into admiration, respect, and the deep-rooted love that had kept us together for all of those years. 

I put my hand on hers, which were still twisting the napkin. The poor white linen never had a chance. 

Even glancing over at Emily now reminded me of her. Her wildly curly hair just screamed out for the whole world to know who her mother is. The way she had the same small, straight nose as Hermione's, except smattered with my freckles and big blue eyes had always been my downfall when hounded with 'Daddy, please?'s, and even now, as she wrinkled her nose in an apparently itchy frustration, I was reminded of when she was three years old: a curious, sharp, trouble-making, adorable and endearing little girl that had won my heart the first time I saw her- screaming and all. For that reason, she was Daddy's Little Girl, and nothing could have changed that. I was sure that I would be an emotional wreck on her wedding day, whenever that may be (and presuming that I don't murder her fiancé just for looking at her). But hopefully, her wedding was a long way off- I was thinking another fifty years- and I wouldn't have to think about it until then. 

Hermione let out a nervous sigh that was barely coherent. I caught it though, and gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. She smiled gratefully at me, something that could usually make me melt, and turned her attention back to Dad. I didn't, though. My eyes stayed on her. She threw her napkin down onto the table, and removed her small hands from mine, twisting them nervously in her lap. I gave her knee an encouraging squeeze, causing her to jump a bit and suppress giggles. She hated it when I did that, because she could never keep her laugh back. 

"And now," Dad said, "I confidently leave you in the competent hands of my daughter-in-law, Hermione Granger-Weasley."

I smiled at her, and clapped along with everybody as she stood and regally walked to the platform. She gave Dad a kiss on the cheek before standing behind a podium and smiling at the crowd in front of her that was still cheering. One by one, people began to stand up, until the entire congregation was standing in an ovation. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Emily stand and leave the ballroom. 

***

Emily… 

I couldn't take it anymore. Just when I thought that Gramps's speech would never end and that I was going to die of extreme itchiness, some itch relief god heard my prayers and he wrapped it all up. 

"Now," said Gramps, beaming, "I can leave you with confidence, knowing that you will be in the competent hands of my daughter-in-law." 

Mum stood up, and gracefully made her way to the head of the room. _Stand up…stand up…_ I needed a standing ovation. I had to get out of here. My legs were going to fall off if I didn't itch them. My fingers were just itching (no pun intended) to scratch my itchy legs. This stupid dress. Dresses suck. Someone finally stood up, and soon the entire hall followed suit. 

Wonderful opportunity to get my arse out of there. 

I slipped out of the ballroom and into a hallway lined with Unspeakables. I wasn't sure where exactly to go, but my Seeker sense of direction sent me down the hallway and to the left. Of course, then I was stuck between two more turns. I moved to make a right, but then, I heard the noise. It sounded like pleading, screaming, crying…I couldn't quite place it. There were two voices- one high-pitched and frightened, and the other, deep and threatening. 

"Please! No!" screamed the high voice. It was a man's that was for sure, but higher than usual. He sounded terrified. 

"Do you know what you've done?" hissed the low voice. There was a dull thud, and moans of pain from the higher voice. More dull thuds echoed through the corridor, and the screams grew louder. 

"Shut up!" the low voice hissed at him. "You ruined my life. You don't deserve to live."

I knew at that point that it was all over. My fate was sealed. I should have gone to get help, but I was rooted to the spot. Nothing would be tearing me away from here, although I was scared out of my mind. My breathing was shallow and fast, my heartbeat skyrocketed, and I was only going to intensify it as I slowly walked to the door, pressing my ear to it.

The sound had stopped. There was no more screaming, no more horrifying thuds, no more threats and no more sounds of movement at all were coming from inside. I take after my parents in many ways, one being my curiosity and desire to learn. It was that horrible curiosity that drove me to open the door and peer inside. 

The first thing that came to my mind was to scream, and yet, my body took over with that immediate reaction as my brain processed what my eyes were seeing. 

In the blink of an eye, I heard the door slam and lock behind me; I felt someone grab my arm, twisting it painfully behind my back; I felt a gloved hand being clasped over my mouth; I felt the most intense fear ever in my life; I heard hissing in my ear, and felt the person's warm breath against my ear. 

"What did you see?" he hissed. 

"Nothing," I said, through his gloved hand. He whirled me around, still with a tight grip on my wrist, although my mouth was now free. 

The sight before me was one of the most terrifying things that I'd ever seen in my life. 

The man was normal. 

There were no oddities about him- no evil smile, no lazy eye, nothing special. His eyes were the coldest steel grey and soulless. No life reached those eyes. Even then, there was no emotion; it was as if he'd been offered the world, and refused it. This refusal reflected in his bitter eyes. He had seen so much, sacrificed innocent lives, and suffered his share as well. His hair was receding and greying, but it was evident that the floppy locks were once a chestnut brown. His face was weathered and tan, reminding me of a charming actor, however not anywhere near complacent. He wasn't very tall at all. In fact, he was just barely taller than I. He was clean cut, much like my father or uncle. He wore a designer suit- a Muggle suit. Just below his jaw line, where his jugular was located, a small tattoo was barely visible. It was a zigzag emblem that I'd seen before in history books, but I couldn't place it. The normalcy of him was unnerving. He looked like a man who was well respected that you wouldn't give a second glance if you happened to pass him in Diagon Alley. 

"I'm going to ask you again, Emily Weasley. What. Did. You. See," growled this man. 

I gasped. He knew my name. This heartless creature knew who I was and could kill me in an instant with his bare hands, if he was so inclined. _But he could do more…_I thought as he backed me into a wall. This man was so much stronger than I, and could have done virtually anything he wanted to me when it came right down to brute strength. 

His head jerked up as he heard the sound. It was distant, but quickly approaching. The sound of footsteps running was echoing throughout the corridor; the Unspeakables had heard me scream. 

I saw the terror in his eyes. _Think like Mum…think like Mum…_

"There!" I cried, mustering up all the bravado that I could find within me, "You see! They're coming for you. Once they see what you've done, and I tell them what I know, you'll be locked up in Azkaban for the rest of your life!" 

The look on his face then was of inner turmoil. He had a choice: he could either, stay and kill me resulting in his arrest, or he could leave a free man while I lived, yet had the knowledge to convict him. 

"I hope you know that I'll come for you. I'll come for you when you least expect it- while you're asleep in your fourth year Gryffindor dormitory; while you're playing Seeker for the house Quidditch team; while you're riding your horse, Lady. Watch your back, Missy. If I find out that you've told anyone, _anyone_, I'll not only be after you in a heartbeat, but your family, friends and all those that you hold dear as well; is that clear?" 

I nodded in fear, my bottom lip trembling. This man was practically inside my head. He knew me, not the Emily Weasley, Seeker, from _Quidditch Illustrated_, but Emily Grace Weasley, the person. 

He threw me on to the ground, as the footsteps grew closer. He shot something from his wand, causing the window to explode. Waiting for him was some kind of cable, allowing him to slide safely into the building across the street. It was clearly a planned job. It wasn't until he was gone, crashing through a window opposite mine, that I let my tears fall. I wailed like it was my job as I walked over to the man on the floor with trepidation. 

The man was large around the middle, and it took much effort for me to turn him over. It was then that I screamed again. His eyes were open, shocked in fear. His half moon glasses were askew and broken. His portly frame was mangled and drenched in blood. His head, grey and balding on the top, was bashed in on the portion by his temple. Blood streamed from his mouth and other wounds. This man was not killed by magic, but by force, making it all the more terrifying. However, there was something that was more terrifying than any of it. 

I knew him. 

His name was Beecher Fitzgerald, a judge for the magical court. He had been one of Mum's colleagues for years, and they were friends, as well. They had sentenced many a man to Azkaban together, both just and fair.  

Then something clicked in my head. The killer knew my name and personal information. This job had been planned. It was common knowledge that Mum and Fitzgerald had been friends and worked together on many occasions. 

This killer was after Mum next, and I was just a bump in the road. 

I looked down at my hands. They were covered in blood- an innocent man's blood. I involuntarily sobbed harder. 

No. No this _wasn't_ happening. I couldn't say anything, or else he'd follow through on his threats. He'd find out, someway, somehow; he'd find out. 

I'd forget it. It never happened. I'd have to get it out of my mind, somehow. This couldn't possible have happened to me. Not to Emily Weasley. If I forgot it, they couldn't use truth serum on me. If I forgot it, they'd never know that I knew. Hell, _I'd_ never know that I knew. I didn't see the killer, I would say. I would tell them that I'd walked in on Fitzgerald's body while I was trying to find the bathroom. 

The Unspeakables rushed in, wands outstretched. I was already forgetting

Ron… 

Hermione stood at the platform, addressing everyone in a cool and confident voice that I was used to hearing from her. She was as nervous as hell, though; her hands were shaking. 

"I am so grateful that you have deemed me worthy to lead you. I promise that I will-"

The air was pierced with a shrill scream. My hand flew to my earpiece, and I saw Harry and Hermione do the same, waiting for instructions. People glanced nervously at each other, and the Aurors waited patiently for some instruction. None came, so it must have been under control. Hermione continued. 

"I promise that I will uphold the…"

But I tuned her out. I looked around the room frantically, and through the glass-paned doors at the top of the grand staircase, I saw Unspeakables rush from their posts with their wands at the ready. My eyes scanned every corner of the room. I saw the boy, Will, that Emily had been speaking to before, looking as bored as any kid would. He was by himself, though. 

My little girl was nowhere to be found. 

I lifted my cufflink to my hand, and said, "Atticus, can you get me a visual on Emily." 

"We can't find her, Ron," said Atticus. 

I heard a second scream resonate throughout the dining room, and I stood up so fast that my chair fell over backwards. Hermione met my eye, as terrified as I was. She rushed from the platform as I rushed towards the door. I wasn't surprised to see Harry running next to me. In addition to being my partner, he was also Emily's godfather (and Landon's, and Jack's for that matter), a role that he took very seriously, mainly because of his relationship with his own godfather. If Emily (or Landon or Jack) were ever in danger, I knew that I could count on him to be at my side. I felt the same way about his children. 

We were scaling the grand staircase as the door was flung open, and Emily was practically dragged in, in a state of complete disarray. She was crying hysterically, and although she was drenched in blood, Hermione didn't hesitate to wrap her tight into a hug, stroking her hair and whispering to her. Harry and I exchanged a glance, and we stormed out of the room. I was mad as a hornet- someone had tried to hurt my baby. This was not going to end well for him. 

I ran in the direction that the Unspeakables were running, so furious that I could barely see straight. Harry and I followed them to a conference room, secured by Aurors and Unspeakables. We flashed badges secured to the inside of our jackets, and with our high ranks were automatically given clearance into the room. What I saw was unbelievable. And then I knew. 

Emily had seen it happen. 

Harry had the same appalled look on his face that I did, however, he recovered and started barking orders. 

"We need a forensic pathologist in here," he said. "Secure the surrounding area; perhaps we can nab him before he Apparates. It appears as if he was really mad to have beaten a man to death like this; certainly he can't be thinking clearly enough to apparate."

"Wait a minute," I said, my eyes trailing from the carnage to the window. A wire was hanging and leading to another broken window across the alley. I picked my way across the room with broken glass crunching beneath my feet. "This was planned," I said, fingering the wire. "He could have Apparated in here, and he could have Avada Kedavra-ed the bloke if her really wanted to. I think that this killer we're dealing with is a Squib."

"You think so?" asked Harry. 

"I don't know," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "Hermione's better at this. We need to get her in here." 

"I'm sorry, but we can't do that," said one of the Aurors (who worked for me, by the way), "Sir, we believe that this was an assassination attempt on the Magistrix. We can't knowingly endanger her by letting her waltz into a high risk area." 

Harry and I turned to him with narrowed eyes. We'd done this speech at least twice before, only with slight alterations given the circumstance that we may have been in. You can get away with murder when you're famous (not really). 

"Let us tell you a few things," Harry started. He always started. "One, _you_ work for _us. _We'll be the ones giving orders around here." 

"Two, my wife is one of the best damn Aurors that we've had. With a case like this one, you're not going to be able to stop her." 

"And three," said Harry, "There's really nothing that you can do to stop us." 

"Sorry, mate." 

The man was flabbergasted, and nodded his head. 

"Good," the two of us said together. 

I brought my cufflink to my mouth. "Artemis," I said, "I want you to take my kids and the Potter kids to the Burrow. Make sure that Emily is with my mother, all right? Make sure that Hermione's security is taken care of, then get her in here." 

"Yes, sir," came through my earpiece. 

This was going to be a long night. 

**Author's Note: **Do you know what I realized during the beginning of this chapter? My baby grew up! Landon, my innocent, cynical, noble, brave, funny, somewhat naive, shy, and smart Landon grew up! He's not Ron and Hermione's baby, no, he's mine. And he's grown up! Well, considering that he's a fictional character, he didn't grow up, per say, but he's a different Landon now. Sure, he's still the same, but now he's more mature. It's kind of strange to be writing about my new and improved mature Landon from someone else's perspective. Anyway, sorry, this took a really long time to update. Finals suck, but aside from this, it was a difficult chapter. Hope you enjoyed it, and while uploading wasn't working, I wrote another chapter! It will be up in a few days before I go on vacation on Sunday! Review, children, review! 


	4. Chapter III

Chapter III: _Aftermath_

Ron… 

Emily was a total wreck. When I made my way back to the ballroom, the crowds were being dismissed, and Hermione was still sitting on the steps as Emily sobbed into her shoulder. Landon stepped into his role as big brother and was seated on her other side, stroking her back comfortingly. 

I walked over to where the Weasley family was hovering nearby. 

"Mum," I whispered to my mother, "This case is pretty explosive; we're going to need Hermione tonight. Would you mind…"

I trailed off. She knew what I was asking, and replied as she always did. 

"Of course not," she said with a smile. "You work as long as you need to, just make sure that Hermione doesn't overwork herself, of course. Landon and Jack are welcome, too." 

"Thanks," I said, "I'd actually prefer it if Jack stayed with you two rather than the Grangers. I love Hermione's parents, but…well if Emily is a part of this, I think that Jack and Landon might need protection as well." 

They understood, and nodded. 

"You know that they're welcome with us any time, son," said Dad. 

"Ron," Ginny said, stepping forward, "Why don't I go get Jack for you and take him and Landon back to your house to get their things for the night? I'll pack for Emily so she won't have to stay in that gown a minute longer. I think it might kill her." 

I smiled at my little sister, and said, "Thanks, Gin, I'd really appreciate it. This looks like it'll be a long night." 

My father took my elbow and led me aside. 

"What exactly is going on, Ron?" he asked me in a quiet voice. 

"Beecher Fitzgerald has been murdered," I said. "Emily either witnessed the murder or found the body; we're not sure. Both are plausible, but there are quite a few holes in the handful of theories that we have right now. That's why we-"

"Need Hermione, I see," he finished, thinking. "If you need any help in the lab, although I'm sure that you've got your bases covered with Hermione, you might want to try Piper Stowe. She's really very insightful, with an excellent medical background." 

"Piper Stowe… I knew her Dad back when people actually _knew_ that I work for the Ministry. Now, they think I'm a lazy arse. Anyway, I'll check her out. Thanks." 

"Right. Beecher Fitzgerald…hmm. He was a good man. How was it done?" 

"What?" 

"The murder. How was he killed?" 

"Not with magic, that was for sure. Beaten, it looks like, but maybe something else. We'll have to wait for an autopsy to be sure. Hopefully, though, the killer wasn't smart enough to cover his trail, which I think may be the case. All signs point to a Squib," I said, lowering my voice further. 

"Son," Dad said in his pacifying voice, "you know that just because someone is a Squib does not mean that he or she isn't intelligent." 

"Yes, Dad," I said, feeling like I was six years old again. "Does Fitzgerald have any family that should be notified…a wife, children, anybody?" 

Dad lowered his eyes, "He has a Muggle wife, Trudy, six children, and twelve grandchildren." 

Under normal circumstances, I would have marvelled at my father's memory. Over the years, though, I had gotten used to people knowing information. Aurors, a branch of MADD (Magical Attack and Defence Department), were very much of law enforcement. They would be nothing, however, without Unspeakables, the CIA of the Wizarding world. 

"We'll need them to identify the body, although we're pretty certain it's him. Rather messy, this one," I said. "Who should we call?" 

"His wife, Trudy. I'll talk to her," he volunteered, knowing that I generally wasn't good at breaking bad news. 

"Thanks," I stole a glance over to Hermione, Landon and Emily. Atticus was approaching, begging Hermione to remove her Cornea Cam, as any contact with tears may result badly for her eye. "I'm going to go steal Hermione from Emily. Dad…take care of her, tonight. Whatever's happened…I…I don't even want to think about what it's doing to her." 

Dad nodded. 

"You should probably grab your mother to tag-team with Hermione," he told me, nodding in their direction. Emily was crying as hard as she had been when she came in, and was holding on to Hermione with no intent of letting go. I nodded, and retrieved Mum. When we approached them, Emily threw her arms around my neck, nearly choking me. 

Harry chose that moment to walk in to check on what was keeping us.  He saw what was going on, and intercepted Hermione, taking her back to the crime scene. I managed to pry Emily off of me and hand her over to my mother and Landon. 

It is one of the hardest things- to see your child cry. I wanted to desperately to tell Emily that everything was going to be all right, but the truth was, it wasn't going to be all right. She'd have to testify in court if we ever got a suspect. She'd have to deal with horrible memories for the rest of her life, and she could be in potential danger. Knowing that all of these things would make her cry even more was even worse to deal with. 

I left the room, patting Landon on the shoulder and sending him a wink of thanks. I jogged down the hallway, and soon caught up with Harry and Hermione. My wife had just been told the news, and appeared noticeably shaken. 

Tape had just been put up around the door, but we flashed badges once more and stepped lightly into the room. Hermione stood at the doorframe, surveying everything. Everyone in the room who was moving stopped in their tracks. They had all heard of the way that she worked. Harry and I were used to it, and remained silent. It was almost as if the wheels in her head could be seen turning. 

She exhaled, a sign that Harry and I had picked up to mean that she was ready to be spoken to, needed to bounce theories off of us, needed to talk theories out, and work out bugs. An Auror handed her a legal pad and quill, and she nodded her thanks. 

"Could you all leave us, please?" she asked them. If they would have protested before, they wouldn't dare defy the Mistress of Magic. They all nodded and left the room, going so far as to close the door behind them. 

She walked around the room, tapping the pad of paper with her quill inquisitively. She stopped in front of the window, folded her arms, and bit on her thumbnail. She was thinking. She exhaled again involuntarily. 

"We think that Emily either witnessed the murder of found the body," I said.

Hermione shook her head sadly, and said, "What are we going to do, Ron? I can't stand to see her like this." Her voice cracked. Not a good sign. Hermione was always very professional when on jobs, and never let personal matters interfere. The fact that she was near tears was saying something huge. She exhaled again, composing herself, and continued. 

"Did anyone check that warehouse?" she asked, pointing out the window to the parallel building. 

I looked at Harry, and he said, "I put someone on it when you left." Hermione and I both nodded. I would have never though about that, although it seemed to be a very obvious decision to make.  

She stood up and walked to the door, exchanging her wedding rings and bracelet for a pair of latex gloves. 

"As you can see," she said, teacher style, as she pointed with her quill, "Beecher was struck from behind. Since the door swings open to the right, that was the side that our killer was standing behind- he was using the door for cover. The first drops of blood are right here. We can see three arcs- the first comes from Beecher, as he spun to see his killer. The other two are streaming from the murder weapon onto the wall behind us and the on the ceiling. That says a few things. The killer hit Beecher on the upper body, the killer is left handed, and this was a planned job, not a hit and run." 

"How do you figure on all three counts?" I asked her. Harry nodded his agreement. 

"Well," Hermione said, "Beecher was hit on the upper body, most likely the shoulder. My guess is that the killer was aiming for the neck to snap it easily and missed. It was the shoulder because he swung upward, hence, the spattering on the ceiling. That also gives us the first bit of our profile- our killer is a small man. If he were Beecher's height, the swing would have been level, like a Beater's. Also, I can prove it to you." She knelt beside Beecher's body and pulled her hair back with her left hand, balancing the legal pad between her knee and elbow, and sticking the quill in her mouth with her available hand before turning Beecher's body over. 

"This wound, here," she said, pointing with the quill to a wound on the left shoulder, "seems to be the oldest. The blood isn't shiny; therefore, it wasn't shed recently. The wound also doesn't appear to be as deep, signifying a hasty blow." She turned Beecher back over to his body was in line with the white outline drawn around it. She stood up and returned to where we were standing.

"But still," I said, "How do you know that it's the first, rather than just an earlier one?" 

"Look at this arc of blood," she said, walking over to where Beecher's position would have been upon entering the room. "You can see the arc goes outward, meaning he pivoted on his right foot in a one hundred eighty degree turn to see his killer." She demonstrated slowly, and it occurred to me that she was right. "Had he been struck on the right shoulder," she said, "there would be spatters of blood on this wall, because the killer would have been facing the inside of the room. But because blood can be seen on the wall behind us, it's obvious that he was standing perpendicular to the wall, which is why the blood is where it is. Also, if Beecher was struck on the right, he would have pivoted inward on his left foot, leaving an arc in the opposite direction." 

I shook my head in amazement. 

"And third, this was a planned job. This killer knew that the ball would be tonight, and Beecher was a VIP who was certain to attend. The killer also knew that he wouldn't be able to get in without a ticket or apparate in. Sneaking in would be almost impossible with the security, so my guess is he used the same method that he used for escape: the window. When he wasn't in a rush or under pressure of being found, he could easily repair it. Most people who are legally Squibs can do minimal amount of magic, and a simple _Reparo_ can be done easily- Squib or not. Also, he was waiting for Beecher in here, which shows that he has patience. It was _not_ a hit and run for that reason. If it were, he could have taken Beecher out in the banquet hall. 

"It may have been an inside job, though, for how would the killer know which room Beecher was going into? Someone may have told Beecher which room to go into, and tipped the killer off about Beecher's ETA, just to keep him ready. Hmmm…" she scribbled those questions down onto the legal pad, and Harry and I opened the door for the rest of the Aurors and Unspeakables to come in and go about their business of combing the room for clues with the aid of chemicals, powders, potions and Sneakoscopes. 

"Keep this quiet," I heard Harry saying to the man who was 'running' the investigation. "I don't want the press to find anything out until we tell them, understand?" 

"Yes, sir, Mr. Potter." 

"Thank you," Harry said. He turned to us. "Are you two ready to get out of here?"

"Yes," said Hermione, "I'm done for the night. Make sure you contact me with further developments?" 

"Actually, ma'am," said Artemis, stepping forward, "We don't think it wise for you to take the case. We have reason to suspect that this man was after you, and Justice Fitzgerald happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." 

She turned and narrowed her eyes at him. "Let me tell you something, _sir_. My daughter was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't care whether this man is trying to kill me, the Pope or the bloody Queen; you are _not_ keeping me from this case if my daughter's safety is on the line. Good night, gentlemen!" 

She turned on her heel and left the room in a huff. Harry and I followed, suppressing our grins. When Hermione snapped, she really snapped. 

_Emily…_

_"Please! No! I beg you, don't hurt my daughter! Please!" Mum's voice echoed through my head. She had a huge cut down her face, and was standing in between me and another man with soulless grey eyes that glowed in hatred. _

_"Stand aside!" he bellowed at her._

_"Please, don't hurt her!" Mum shouted. "Please, take me, just don't hurt Emily!" _

The man laughed, and struck Mum hard, causing her to crumple to the ground. It was horrible seeing my mother, usually full of life and energy, in a state of helplessness. I prayed with all of my might that Dad would come home. Landon, my only other hope, was lying unconscious and bleeding at the bottom of the stairs. Jack was huddled shaking in a corner, refusing to move out of fright. And now, the man without a soul was cornering me. 

_I looked down at myself, and somehow, I managed to be covered in blood. Blood that wasn't mine. I could feel, though, that this blood was spilt needlessly by the soulless man. He conscience left with his soul, and he felt no remorse. _

_He strode closer to me, knife raised high. My wand was under my pillow in my bedroom, and I had no protection at all. _

_And then, "Hermione! I'm Home!" And the slamming of a door followed. Dad set his briefcase down on the kitchen counter, and walked into the living room. He saw what was going on, and his eyes went wide. _

_"Bloody hell!" he said. _

_"Daddy, don't!" I cried, but it was too late. The man was upon him, and in a single movement, my father was dead, lying on the ground with a knife in his chest. I had never screamed louder in my life. _

_Ron…_

The three of us apparated to the Burrow as we had done so many times before. Mum and Dad greeted us in the kitchen; Landon and Jack were asleep in my old room; Ginny was dozing at the table over a cup of tea, and Emily was asleep on the couch. Hermione and I walked in to see her as Harry gently roused Ginny. 

"She refused to go upstairs," Mum said, sniffing. "She didn't want to leave us the entire night. Poor dear kept waking up with nightmares, screaming and crying for you two. Landon, bless his heart, stayed down here with her most of the night. Had to slip a sleeping drought into her tea to get her to sleep." 

"Thanks so much for doing this, Mum," Hermione said, brushing a curl out of Emily's face. "I hate to see her like this." 

"I'm sure that it must be hard for you both," Dad said, sitting down on the love seat. Hermione nodded, and perched lightly on the small amount of space next to Emily on the couch, stroking her arm. 

"Have there been any more developments on the case?" Ginny asked, as she and Harry walked into the living room. 

"A few," I said. "Not many. We've been able to profile the bloke…sort of. We don't have a suspect, though. We're not even sure if we have witnesses until we can really talk to Emily." 

"I don't want to bring her into this," Hermione said, shaking her head. It was almost comical- her brow was furrowed, her lips were pursed and her curls were bouncing everywhere as she shook her head. She looked fifteen years old again. "I don't want to bring her into this; she shouldn't have to relive the pain over and over again, Ron. It's just not right." 

"Well, I know that, Sweetheart," I said (best to use pet names when she's upset and/or I really want to get my way), "But we don't have a choice. She may be the only witness, and if that's what it takes to get this case solved, then that's what we're going to do."

"He's right, Hermione," said Harry. "I know that you don't want to do this to her. Hell, neither do I, but it's our only choice. D'you remember when we'd just joined the Service? We promised each other that our personal lives would _never_ interfere with our jobs, and if they did, one of us would say something?" Hermione nodded. "Well, that's what's going on, so I'm telling you that it'd better not happen again." 

Perhaps it was harsh, but it was what Hermione needed. Especially since Artemis took that moment to apparate in. Considering that she had, more or less, just told him to bugger off, she didn't really need to be agitated by two things at once. 

Emily shuddered on the couch and gave an involuntary whimper. Hermione felt her forehead to find it sweaty and cold. 

"We should really get home," I said. Hermione nodded, and I stood up to retrieve my sons. I had barely gotten to the steps when I heard blood-curdling screams coming from the living room. I ran back to find Emily sitting up, screaming and crying hysterically in Hermione's arms. 

"Where's Daddy?" she was saying over and over again. "Daddy…no…no…" 

"Hey, Emmy," I said, using her childhood nickname to try and calm her down. "I'm right here. Shhh…I'm right here." 

She sniffed and lifted her head from Hermione's shoulder and cocked her eyebrow quizzically. 

"Daddy? You're…you're all right?" she asked. 

I nodded, and said, "I'm fine, Emmy. I'm going to go get you some tea, and then we'll go home, all right? Shhh…" I rocked her back and forth, and Hermione got up and went into the kitchen. She came back moments later with a cup of tea for Emily. I beckoned her towards me, and she leaned close to hear what I had to say.

"Put some fire whiskey in it," I told her. She nodded and went back to the kitchen. Immoral? Perhaps. I didn't care at this point; I just wanted her to be at ease, no matter what it took. Hermione left again to get the boys from my old room as Emily shakily drank her tea while crying. 

"Daddy," she said, "I thought that you…I thought that you were…and that he…"

"Who?" Harry and I said in unison, jumping at the opportunity. 

Emily looked back and forth between us, and said, "I don't know. Whoever killed Mr. Fitzgerald, I guess." 

This would be harder than I thought. 


	5. Chapter IV

Chapter IV: _Making a Splash_

Ron… 

Hermione and I arrived at the MADD Headquarters at eight o'clock on July 20, two days after Beecher Fitzgerald's murder. Harry was waiting for us in the medical investigation department. 

"Anything?" Hermione asked him as we scrubbed our hands with cleansing potion. 

Harry shook his head, "Nope. This bloke was good; I'll give him that. He left without a trace. We've sent the glass shards from the warehouse to forensics; hopefully there will be something there-blood, maybe." 

I reached into one of the deep pockets of my lab coat, removed my identification (and a chocolate frog that I'd been looking for), and clipped the ID to the lapel of my coat while eating the frog and causing Harry and Hermione to make a face at me. It wasn't _that_ old. 

The vacuumed doors opened as a woman walked through, dressed identically to the three of us (suit, lab coat, latex gloves- typical boring day on the med floor) and not looking very happy about anything. She removed her gloves and shook Hermione's hand. 

"It's nice to meet you," the woman said before donning new gloves. "I'm Maggie Portland, I did the autopsy on Justice Fitzgerald. Let's go back and take a look, shall we?"  

I will never get used to morgues. We followed Maggie as she walked through the drawers in which bodies were magically kept cool and in tact.  She tapped her wand on one of the cool metal slots, and it separated itself from the others, floating behind us as we walked into a separate examination room. The drawer was much like a metal coffin that melted away when it came in contact with the cool metal examination table. 

"He was killed at seven thirty nine on the eighteenth," she said. "As far as we can tell, the first wound was made at seven twenty two, and it was on his left shoulder- the one that you noted, Hermione." 

The tapped her wand to the wall, and an image of Fitzgerald's body showed up, each of the wounds labelled at the precise time in which each was made. She tapped the wall again, and different colours showed up around each wound. 

"When forensics scanned," she said, "They picked up certain particles."

"What kind of particles?" Harry asked. 

"Metals, alloys" Maggie said. "It appears as if he was beaten by a pipe of some sort." 

"Well what good does that do us?" I asked. We were trying to figure out _who_ killed Beecher, not _what_ Beecher was killed with. It was obvious that he had been beaten to death- who cared if it was with a pipe? 

"We can look for a murder weapon," Hermione said, dismissively. "Perhaps he's left prints. Go on, Maggie." 

Emily… 

The first couple days after the Ball, I barricaded myself in my room. I didn't want to see anyone, talk to anyone, eat, sleep, anything. I thought that if I shut out the world, then the problems of the world would leave me alone, too. Of course, things didn't work that way. I decided then that I hated being alone. When I was alone, I kept thinking about it. 

Mum came in to my room the day after. I think that she and Dad had decided that it would be best to let me have some time to myself to mull things over. It was around dusk, and she seemed to have decided that I just had to get out of my room and that it was bad for me. She was actually rather comforting when she came in. I appreciated it, and when she left, it was even worse than before. All I could think of was what it would be like if Mum ever left for good. I thought that I had to be near her because something would happen to her if I didn't see her. 

So I left my room. Still, I didn't talk to anyone; I just sat on the couch alone with my feelings. That didn't work either. So, I switched tracks entirely. Rather than not doing anything for fear of breaking, I'd do everything.

If I wanted to forget, I'd have to keep busy, which would keep me from thinking about it. Mum and Dad made it a point to ask me about it when I was fine, but I would shake my head. I didn't want to talk about it, because then I would remember. And since his threats were hollow, I had no reason to remember, did I? 

I hated sleeping alone. It was horrible. I didn't want Mum and Dad to worry any more than they already were, so when everyone was asleep, I would take my pillow and sleep on the floor in Landon's room. At least I felt safe there. Uncomfortable, yes, but safe. The first day or so, he didn't know I was there. I'd wake up before him and go back to my room. Rather than go to sleep, though, I'd work on a painting. Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep. But one night, I had a nightmare, and woke up crying. Landon heard _that, _obviously. 

"Em? What are you doing here?" Landon asked me as he sat down next to me on the floor. I was able to control myself once I realized that this was my older brother.

"Don't tell Mum and Dad, Landon, please," I begged him. "Please." 

He searched my face with his inquisitive blue eyes, and said, "What's going on, Em? Why shouldn't they know?"

"Landon, I just…I don't want them to," I said, lamely. 

He arched his eyebrow, as if to say, 'Come on, sis, is that the best that you can do?'

But instead, he said, "All right. I don't like it, but all right. Want a blanket?" 

Ron… 

The three of us walked up three flights of stairs to Hermione's floor after returning our lab coats. Since she had been elected, she also got a major upgrade in floor space. Rather than a corner office with a view that many executives yearned for, she had an entire floor. Her office itself _was_ a corner office and _did_ have a view, but it was not typical. Her mahogany desk was no longer half as cluttered with the addition of several bookshelves that ran along one wall. Although her leather chair looked fairly comfortable, part of the room was designated as a parlour where Victorian style furniture was organized in a small, intimate cluster and a sterling tea service sat regally on the table. This room screamed 'Hermione' from the many diplomas, certificates and awards that bedecked the walls, to the van Gogh print on the wall (she loved van Gogh); to the plush, deep blue carpet's sharp contrast with the mahogany of the desk; to the hundreds of books crammed into her bookshelf; to the case files and books that lay open on her desk; to the few personal pictures in the room- a Weasley family picture from last Christmas, one of Harry and us on graduation and a candid one of the kids (Landon reading, while Jack played with his action figures and Emily polished her broomstick); and to the fragrance of the room. The room was filled with what can only be described as Hermione-smell: lilacs, vanilla and gardenias masked the faint touch of soap, ink, and hairspray. 

Also on her floor was Juliet's workstation, a private conference room, broadcasting studio, Research and Intelligence Database Centre, and library of records and historical documents. There was also a discreet kitchen and dining room. 

She opened the door to her office after retrieving her messages from Juliet. The magical lights switched on a soon as the door was opened. I nearly laughed as she sat down behind her desk and was practically dwarfed by the huge chair. Harry and I conjured up our own chairs and she handed both of us parchment and quills. 

"Where should we start?" Harry asked. 

"Haven't a bloody clue," I replied. 

"First," Hermione said, "We need suspects. We'll get nowhere otherwise." Harry and I nodded. 

"How do you plan on getting that?" I asked, just out of curiosity. 

"Well," she said, "We'll need to see a list of who was apprehended the night of the ball."

"Magical or Muggle?" asked Harry.

"Both," said Hermione. "We can do background checks. My guess is that the list will dwindle pretty quickly. We'll also need a list of Fitzgerald's enemies. Who would have a motive for killing this man?" 

"Does he even have enemies?" I asked. "I mean, the guy has basically been working for the good of the people; why would someone want to harm him?" 

"Perhaps he sentenced a friend or relative to jail," Hermione suggested, "Or perhaps an old foe was gaining revenge. Which brings up something else- we'll need a forensic psychologist." 

"I see," said Harry, "People whose names are on both lists will have to be investigated more than normal. You're right, though, there shouldn't be many. He was a good man."

Hermione and I nodded our consent. 

"Also," Harry said, "We should review security records to see who came and went at throughout the night." 

"No good," Hermione said, shaking her head. "We've already established this job to have been thoroughly planned. This killer had been waiting for Beecher."

"But still," I said, "It's worth a shot. We're flying blind, here, Hermione. Anything helps." 

"I suppose," she said, although it was evident that she didn't like the idea. "You do know what that means, don't you?" 

I raised an eyebrow in questioning. 

"Emily is a suspect." 

Nothing could have prepared me for that. 

"What?" I asked her. She and Harry looked almost…peaceful. 

"Ron, Emily left the ballroom that night, which puts her on the suspect list," said Harry. "Look, we know that she's innocent, but not everyone does. How is that going to look? She's missing at the time of his death and comes back drenched in his blood?" 

"No!" I said, "No, this isn't right. She's-"

"Ron," Hermione said pacifistically. I rounded on her. 

"Don't you care about all of this? _You're_ her mother, and you're taking this as if nothing has happened at all."

"Of course I _care_ about this, Ron, but think about it logically. Emily should be in the clear within an hour of research. She's barely fourteen; Fitzgerald was sixty something. She's got no motive, nor does she have the means to commit the crime. Ron, she was completely undone from merely seeing the man's body; how could she have killed him as well? It doesn't work out psychologically, either." 

I sat back in my chair and ran a hand through my already dishevelled hair. 

"Trust me," she said, standing up and putting a hand on my shoulder. "This will all blow over. I promise you." 

"Fine," I said, still surly. 

"Let's go, then. The sooner that we get a suspect list, the sooner that Emily is proven innocent. _Conversate_," she said into her wand. It glowed red, and then green, signalling that she was able to speak into it. "Juliet, would you please get Artemis and Atticus Cooper, Sirius Black and Lincoln Justice for me, please? Send them into the research room, and come in with them as well." 

Lincoln Justice. He had been a friend of ours since our Auror days, and had campaigned to be Hermione's second in command with the clever, albeit terribly lame, pun that the two of them had come up with: _Justice- the Missing Linc._ The man was as shrewd as a serpent, and had been the first Slytherin that the three of us ever got along with. He was also one of the only people who I had seen match Hermione's wit- she was still smarter, though. We trusted him implicitly, and he would, no doubt, be a tremendous help in solving this case. 

Harry's godfather still was the Head of MADD, and had given the three of us full run of the case just yesterday. Of course, we dove right in. We had always admired his prowess and expertise, and relied on him immensely during sticky cases, like this. 

The three of us walked out of Hermione's office and down the hallway to the Research and Intelligence Database Centre (or _ritzy _as it was commonly known). 

Hermione slipped her small, delicate hand into my large, rough one and squeezed lightly. I looked down to see her smiling reassuringly at me. I squeezed her hand back, before putting my arm around her shoulders and lightly twisting one of her curls through my fingers. I dipped down to kiss her temple, and she looked back at me with her time stopping smile. 'I love you,' she mouthed. She always knew how to make me feel better and make me want her all at the same time. 

"Break it up, lovebirds," Harry said from in front of us. Amazing. He hadn't looked at us since we left Hermione's office. 

_Right,_ I told myself. _Professional…professional…damn it professional…_

When we arrived at Ritzy, Atticus was waiting for us. Apparently, he spends the majority of his days there. Hermione dictated to him all that she needed, but added something else to her list. 

"I'll also need transcripts of all of the cases that Fitzgerald has ever judged, defended, or prosecuted, please," she told him as the three of us sat back in the comfy chairs around the conference table. Per usual, I put my feet up on the table and twisted my wedding ring around inquisitively as Atticus heaped piles of parchment on the table. Hermione picked up a case and was taking notes on a separate piece of parchment. Harry had the apprehension list, which was small; I decided to dive into the cases and help Hermione. 

Once Sirius and Lincoln joined us to assist in the investigation and Atticus had the security read-outs, two hours had passed. We had made little headway, although we did have a short list of suspects for Juliet to run background checks on. 

This man had been a judge for thirty years, and a lawyer for ten before that. It would take months to sort through all of these cases. If there was one thing that you had to learn when it came to solving a case, it was patience. 

_One Month Later…_

_Emily…_

Landon felt the urge to do many strange things that summer. For instance, he felt it necessary to have a party before school started. What was the point of that? Everyone in his year was invited (none of the Slytherins wanted to come, though, and Mum had made him invite them in the first place). 

Mum and Dad also decided that it would be good for me to be around some of my friends, considering I'd been rather antisocial since the Ball. It was a smart thing to do on their part, even if I didn't like it. I figured that they were right; I probably would have fun. I didn't want them gushing all over me, although that was rather far-fetched. Rachel had probably told them everything and _then_ some. I'd probably have to deal with her and Meghan's sympathy looks, hugs, 'I hope you feel betters' and all of the other dreadful things that come along with being their best friend in 'time of need'.

Although I really didn't want to admit it, a little extra attention would be nice. My parents had misinterpreted my lack of conversation about the incident as a desperate attempt to achieve a euphoric normalcy, so they gave me my space. Landon took my plea of 'don't tell Mum and Dad' to mean forget about it completely. Even though my friends might be over the top about it all, I wouldn't mind entirely. 

On the day of the party, the pool was open, Landon and James were making fools of themselves flexing in the mirrors for Rachel and I (we were by no means impressed, and fighting laughter the entire time), and the House Elves had discovered the joys of diving boards. Mum and Dad took off from work because the Thomases, the Finnigans, and Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny were going to be spending the day with them.

_Ron…_

She was wearing that bloody bathing suit again. _Oh, but so is Rachel, Daddy, and Uncle Harry doesn't care._ Piss off, Harry. I was ready to go and beat up one of Landon's friends who gave her more than a second glance, but Hermione put a restraining hand on my shoulder. Dean, Seamus and Harry found this all quite amusing while our wives exchanged knowing grins. I hate those bloody grins. They just say, 'Aw, isn't he cute? I'm so glad that I'm intellectually superior and more experienced in all matters because I'm a woman. I'll humour him, though.' 

Something wasn't right. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but there was something wrong. 

"Emily," warned Harry, "You've got season opening tomorrow. Careful you don't kill yourself." Landon and his friends had challenged Emily and her friends to a game of netball. 

"Uncle Harry," said Emily in a very patronizing tone that caused Harry to raise his eyebrows as Hermione and Ginny suppressed grins, "I'm a _Seeker_. That has nothing to do with my feet." 

"Yes," said Harry, quite amused, "I'm sorry, Emily. _Do_ pretend that I've never played Quidditch before. Just don't trip and break your wrist." So, of course, the first things that Emily did was fall and pretend that she couldn't move her wrist just to make Harry go ballistic, something that he wasn't accustomed to. I have to admit, it was pretty funny when Harry jumped up and ran over, screaming at her for being reckless and yet insanely concerned at the same time that her Quidditch career had come to a premature end because of a freak netball accident. He looked about ready to strangle Emily when she laughed in his face. 

Hermione and I couldn't help but laugh at him when he sat down dejected. 

"Honestly, Harry," said Hermione.

"What?" 

I exchanged a glance with my wife. "You're her godfather, mate."

"So?" 

"Shouldn't you know her by now?" asked Hermione with a teasing grin. 

"Sod off." 

A tremor came over me then. It was feeling that I couldn't describe at all, other than a painful tremor. Immediately, my wand was out and I stood up so quickly that my chair fell over backwards. 

"Did you feel that?" Hermione whispered to us. "Am I going mad or did you feel that?" I looked at her and saw her standing up, paler than usual with her wand at the ready. Harry was also standing, with fingers massaging his forehead, namely, his scar. 

Ginny, Seamus, Lavender, Dean and Natalie (Dean's wife) were all staring at us apprehensively. Ginny gently rested her hand on Harry's forearm. The way that he was wincing and bracing his jaw showed that that scar was giving him a massive headache. 

He looked up at Hermione and I, and that strange best friend mental telepathy that we had proved that we were all thinking the same thing as we simultaneously started from the table.

"Spread out," Harry directed. "Ron, go behind the bushes; Mione, you head towards the stable. Artemis, you pan the area wherever you see fit, eh?" 

Artemis nodded. I half consciously saw Emily grab Landon's arm, near tears, and Jack run over to Ginny. 

The four of us spread out, wands out.

I heaved a sigh. It had been awhile, this. 

Emily… 

Mum, Dad and Uncle Harry stood up so fast that their chairs fell down. I didn't know what was going on, but it scared me. They stomped off, and Dad had his fight-face on. This was not good. I could feel myself trembling as phantom memories of cool grey eyes flashed in front of my mind's eye. I could feel my heart rate increasing. 

_"I'll be watching you."_

Jack went to chase after Mum and Dad, but Aunt Ginny intercepted him, holding him on her lap even as he squirmed to be released. Landon saw the worry on my face so he strode behind me and rested his hands reassuringly on my shoulders. 

A shot rang out from the direction of the stables. The horses could be heard whinnying in fright, and Uncle Harry, Dad and Artemis were sprinting across the yard in that direction. That was where Mum was. 

_Ron…_

I prowled around behind the bushes for a while. Nothing. Not even a tremor like before. I wondered if Artemis, Harry or Hermione were having better luck than I. 

Something rang through the air that sent birds flying and horses whinnying. I had a feeling that it was a gunshot, but I wasn't entirely sure. I didn't think that it could have come from a wand. Whatever it was, though, it was from the stables and that was Hermione's post. 

I ran off towards the stables, and saw Artemis ahead of me, and Harry a little behind. When we reached the stables, the first thing that we saw was Hermione, wand raised, using a stable door for cover. We threw ourselves down next to her, away from the line of fire. 

"What's up?" I asked. 

"I'm not sure. I was just walking around here, and I heard the gunshot, so I dove down here. And it smells." 

"You could have just used a warding spell," said Artemis. Apparently the small Muggle fraction of Hermione's brain had taken over when she heard the gun. "Spread out." No sooner had we left our position then Hermione found the gun. She daintily picked up the Sig Sauer and conjured the proper wrappings for it to preserve whatever the lab might be able to find on it. 

Artemis continued to scour the grounds, but told the three of us that we could head back to the party and calm everyone down. With a swish of her wand, Hermione sent the gun to the MADD Labs. 

"Wait," she said to Harry and I before we reached the deck. We turned to look at her and she continued. "Why would the killer come here? He knows that we have maximum security, and for some reason, I don't think that this person would go so far as to try to kill me. I don't think that those were his plans at all. He seems to me like someone who simply wanted revenge on Fitzgerald. I don't think that it has anything to do with me." 

I agreed with her.

"What if…what if the killer is using Emily to get to us? To scare us?" 

"What?" Harry and I said in unison.

"Think about it. What if Emily was lying to us?" 

"She wouldn't do that," I said, almost immediately. 

"But what if she was? What if she had seen the killer and he had seen her? He knows that we're on the investigation, doesn't he? What if he'll stop at nothing to keep us from learning the truth and Emily has the truth?" 

"But that doesn't make sense," said Harry. "If Emily knew and had the power to convict this man, then why wouldn't she act on it? We're running the investigation, it's not as if she's scared of what we'll do to her." 

Hermione was quiet for a moment.

"What if she couldn't tell us? What if he put a binding spell on her, or…or he threatened her if she told."

"How would he know if she did?" 

Shivers went up my spine. 

"Maybe he's trying to get her attention, let her know that he's still here. He let of the gun over by the stables. Coincidence?" 

"Yes."

"No! Harry, I'm telling you, _she knows._"

"Fine, say she knows," Harry said, "Use a Pensieve and get the memories out of her, and we'll see if you're right." 

Hermione shook her head, "A Pensieve is voluntary. It makes sense, Harry." 

He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, looking at the ground; he did this when he was thinking hard. "It's a pretty big 'what if'," he said. 

"This whole case has been a 'what if'."

"What would we do, then?" I asked. "What would we do if you were right?" 

Hermione shrugged. "Protect Emily, somehow. Maybe try to coax it out of her. If not, there has got to be some other way to solve this case. But whether or not I'm right, something tells me that Emily isn't safe." 

Harry and I both nodded. We knew exactly what she meant.

"So, what do we do, then?" 


	6. Chapter V

**Author's Note****: **Hey guys. Thanks so much for the positive reviews; I really appreciate them. And, please, keep them coming! I know that this story has been dragging a bit in the last couple chapters, but I assure you that it will be getting better. Also, I was in the mood for an ego boost (hehehe) and I re-read my reviews of **Making Shade **(which you should go read…now!) and I just wanted to say thanks a lot for all of the great reviews of that story. I'm glad that you enjoyed it, now if you would only review Emily's story! LOL, but seriously…review! 

I hope that you enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to review!

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and Co. is the intellectual property of JK Rowling. The song quoted in this chapter is Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls. No infringement is intended. 

Chapter V: _Of Bodyguards, Braids, Bathrooms and Brawls_

Emily… 

The most horrible thing about Hogwarts, if there is such a thing, is that there is no room for me to bring my paintings or canvases. They don't fit in my trunk, and I don't have room to carry them. Mum and Dad can't send them to me, because no owls can carry a canvas all the way to Scotland. But what can you do? 

September first is usually my favourite day of the year, minus Christmas and my birthday, of course. Today, however, I wasn't feeling so optimistic. I would have to leave Mum and Dad's protection, and I wasn't ready. I had shut out all of the memories, but phantom images never ceased to follow me around. 

By the time that we had packed and gone back to the house three times for Landon's Head Boy badge, Jack had to use the bathroom…again, and I forgot my homework (Mum was more ready to retrieve mine than Landon's. This made me momentarily happy). 

We didn't even take Dad's Porsche to King's Cross-. Instead, the Ministry sent along a big black Suburban with Ministry flags on the bonnet. It wasn't very subtle. It was quite all right, though, when we arrived at King's Cross. We didn't have to push our own trolleys, and people stopped and stared at us once on the platform. They parted to let us walk through. Landon was looking quite embarrassed, Mum and Dad were trying to ignore it, Jack was sucking on his thumb like he did when he was nervous (he was the shy one of the family), and I decided that while people were staring, I'd might as well make the best of it. I was waving and greeting people like the Queen of the World. I got some rather nasty looks from Slytherins, but everyone else thought that I was quite funny. 

I suppose that I'm what you would call popular. I don't pay attention to popularity, really. I'm just nice to people, that's all. My popularity is somewhat hollow, though. People like me because I'm good at Quidditch. People liked Landon and Mum because they're smart. People like Uncle Harry because he's famous. People like Rachel because she's gorgeous. Of course, I do have my true friends. They're not hard to spot- they stick around during the tough times. I don't understand why so many people crave popularity. Speaking on behalf of the 'popular' people, the 'unpopular' are the ones who made us so popular, anyway, just because of a skill, body, or something completely out of control. I'd rather have a group of close friends that I could trust than a lot of friends who only liked me because I was Emily Weasley, Quidditch Player. Quality, not quantity. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on whether the glass is half empty of half full, I had both of those friends. I had my tight circle- Rachel, Meghan, Kyle and Tom- and then those that I didn't especially know to talk with for a long period of time, but enough to say 'hi, how ya doing' should I happen to see them on Diagon Alley. 

Once our bags were on the train, the security detail that had followed us checked the compartments that Landon and I would be in from top to bottom. One of them would even be riding on the train with us. I thought that it was a bit…overkill, but it's policy. Never mind that Mum has the power to change the policy, or anything. 

I walked back out to the platform where Artemis was looking surly that Mum and Dad were talking with Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny, and Uncle Fred and Aunt Angelina. Apparently, it was a security breach or something. 

As much as I love Hogwarts, I think that Platform 9¾ excites me even more. The hustle and bustle atmosphere in the air is enough to give the most out of shape person an adrenaline rush. The feeling of love and happiness is enough to make even the hardest of hearts warm to a nice glow. The anticipation, mingled with the sent of fresh books, newly washed and pressed robes, owls and cats, perfume, sweat and steam brings back a fresh wave of nostalgia every time one walks through the barrier. As I struggled to follow Gaston, who was the boulder of a bodyguard that had been given the task of accompanying me, a cat scampered in front of my feet, friends met up for the first time since June, a trunk fell on someone's toe, a sixth year couple kissed hello, a mother said a tearful goodbye to her first year son, and parents shook hands with their old school chums. Platform 9¾ has heard more 'hellos' and 'goodbyes' than a Beatles song, more tears than a funeral, more joy than a maternity ward, and more anxiety than Mum's library. The platform personifies the cliché _if these walls could talk_.  

Mum teared up as usual when I hugged her goodbye. Jack looked as if he couldn't care any less no matter how hard he tried, and Landon appeared as if he couldn't wait to be alone with Fiona. Dad was nowhere to be found. The train whistle blew, and I hugged Mum one last time before running to jump on. I hadn't seen Dad and that upset me. I wanted to see him before Christmas, and I had to make sure that he was all right. Mum didn't appear to be concerned about it, and Artemis wasn't in a frenzy, either. Apparently, they knew something that I didn't. Ah, the story of my life. 

I jumped on the train just in the nick of time, and was face to face with Gaston, the human rock. This would be a long train ride, for he insisted on following me around everywhere. I wondered if I would be able to do anything without this big lump following me around. I found my compartment, and my friends were already there. I took my seat next to Rachel, and Gaston stood at the door, surveying the room. Everyone glanced at him warily. 

"Who's big brother?" Tom asked. 

"This is Gaston," I said. "He just stands there; ignore him." 

"Did you guys hear about Hagrid?" Rachel asked.

"No, what happened?" No one was as fond as Hagrid as we were. 

"He's retiring this year."

"About time," I said. True, I loved Hagrid, but he was pretty old. His job, though he loved it, was putting a lot of strain on him. "I wonder who's taking his place?" I was in his Care of Magical Creatures class, as was Kyle (we were working on converting Will from Divination to Care of Magical Creatures. Rachel and Meghan had roped him in already. It's a cult, I tell you.), and we enjoyed it very much

The train rocked back and forth for the remainder of our trip. It was pretty monotonous, I thought. I mean, why spend four hours looking out the window only to see sheep, trees, cows and grass? It gets old. Will found it captivating though, and spent every moment staring at the scenery. Meghan and Rachel did the same; only their scenery wasn't exactly sheep, trees, cows and grass. No, their scenery was a dishy new boy with a potpourri accent that even I had to admit was rather dashing. 

But Rachel and Meghan were fighting over flirting rights. Unless I wanted my hair pulled out and my face scratched in a catfight, I thought it best to let them at it and do something really useful. Sleep. 

* * *

I woke up panting in a cold sweat. Everyone in the compartment was staring at me apprehensively. 

"Emily?" Rachel asked, resting her hand on my shoulder. I flinched at the contact. "Emily, are you all right?" 

"I need a walk," I said, getting up as fast as I could. Gaston had left the compartment, and was standing outside, protecting the door. The moment I opened hit, he moved to let me through, but then advanced to follow me. 

"Please, Gaston," I asked him. "Please, it's the Hogwarts Express. What's going to happen to me when there are teachers up in the front of the train? Please, I just need to be alone for a second." 

"I'm sorry. My orders are to follow you," he said. 

Fine, then. I walked to the restrooms at the rear of the train, Gaston in tow. _Let's just see him follow me into the girls' bathroom_, I thought. _What self-respecting male would voluntarily walk into a girls' bathroom? _ I vaguely remembered stories of Dad and Uncle Harry, but brushed them away. I needed to be alone and think. Just as I'd suspected, Gaston waited outside. Had he come in, I swear I would have hexed him. 

I checked to make sure that no one was in the stalls and bolted the door behind me. Quickly I turned the sink on, leaning on it for support. The cold water that lapped over my face felt like a slap, but I was grateful for it. Anything to know that I was still alive. The water mingled with my tears, so one was not distinguishable from the other. Turning off the sink, I shakily stood up, wiping tears and water from my eyes. I took a look at my face in the mirror. My large blue eyes were swollen and red from crying, my cheeks were puffy, and the tips of my ears were red. I was paler than usual. I ducked back down, drying my face with a towel. When I straightened up again, there was another face beside mine in the mirror. I nearly screamed as I turned around, and realized that no one was there. But those grey eyes were so real and clear, as if I could have touched them. 

I was falling apart. I hadn't forgotten, as I'd tried to convince myself. Rather, as I'd lied to myself. I'd pushed the memories far from my mind, but I still hadn't forgotten them. They were still raw. The truth was, I didn't think that I'd ever truly forget them. I'd just have to learn to deal with them and teach myself how to control them. 

At that moment in time, I lost it. I realized that I had lost my innocence in that moment when I had chosen to open the door rather than walk away. A simple action had ruined my life, or so I thought. I would never get rid of these memories. They'd plague me forever, just because I had been headstrong and reckless. A fresh wave of tears came upon me as I slid down the wall. I laid my forehead on my knees as my shoulders were racked with sobs. 

Someone knocked on the door and bid me to hurry up.

I knew that the Ministry would talk to me, even more than Mum and Dad had tried. But they wouldn't understand. I don't think that anyone could fully understand what I was feeling right then. There would be no comfort for me. They would pick my brain apart until there was nothing left but the haunting memories of a happy life that I used to have and a dead man. I didn't want pity. Pity was the worst emotion that anyone can express to another human being. Pity shows condescension. And I hate condescension. 

I cried even harder. I could never go back.

I was reminded of lyrics to a Muggle song that I had never quite understood before. They all made sense to me now, and the painful realization that this song could have been written about me made me want to laugh at the irony and cry harder all at once.

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming 

_Or that moment of truth in your lies_

_When everything feels like the movies_

_And you bleed just to know you're alive. _

_And I don't want the world to see me,_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand. _

_When everything's made to be broken, _

_I just want you to know who I am._

I hadn't seen Dad on the platform. It worried me. I wondered if this dream had been brought on by that anxiety or subconscious suspicion that Dad had fallen prey to this killer. Maybe it had. I had heard once that dreams were always brought on by a reason- something you want, something you're afraid of, or something that you're afraid to want. Professor Patil, the Divination Professor, would have told me quite plainly that it was because of the position of Jupiter and Pluto in correlation with the birthday of those born in November and the lunar positioning on the first of the month that brought on the dreams. Of course, if I told Rachel or Meghan, they'd be the first to say "Oooooh" and suggest that it was an omen of sort, and beg me for permission to read my tealeaves until I relented, just so they'd shut up. I didn't need that. 

Someone knocked again. "Would you hurry up in there, please?" 

This dry imagery made me snort a laugh, but the tears were still there. I wanted Mum and Dad. They'd rock me to sleep and tell me that everything would be all right. They'd stay by my side in case I woke up with a bad dream. They'd hold me while I cried, and they'd tell me stories about when they were in school that would captivate me. I did not want to be sitting in a bathroom with a big scary man outside and a line forming because I selfishly barricaded myself inside. I would have no comfort, and no release. I'd have to deal with this my own way, and on my own time. 

I stood up, relieved that the tears had subsided. Bugger, I didn't have my wand with me. I wet a towel, and wet my already moist face, hoping to remove the redness. My freckles stood out more, though. Oh well, I had always rather liked the freckles that had been sprinkled across the bridge of my nose and dotted my cheeks. My hair was more frizzy than usual; I assumed that it was from the dampness in the bathroom. All in all, nothing was horribly wrong with me. Physically, anyway. Psychologically…well, I didn't want to think about that. 

I unlocked the door and stepped out into the hallway. Gaston was still standing guard, only not so conspicuously. There was a line of seven or eight girls, all holding their school robes in their arms or really fidgety. I didn't look any of them in the eye, mainly because they were shooting death glares at me. 

"Emily?" someone called my name. Gaston was walking ahead of me, and hadn't stopped when I did. All the same, so I let him keep walking as I turned around. "Emily, are you all right?" Charlotte, my brother Landon's best friend got out of line for the bathroom and came to my side. 

"I-I…" 

"Come here," Charlotte said, pulling me into an empty compartment. She slid the door closed as I sat down on one of the seats. I didn't mind an interrogation with Charlotte. I'd always liked her, because the first time I'd met her, when I was eight years old and Landon brought her home for Christmas, she'd came into my room at night to talk to me about Landon and James. Landon wasn't especially nice to her, and it was really getting her down. I didn't know what she thought that I could do for her. After all, I was only eight years old at the time. I think that that may have been one of the reasons why I'd been drawn to her. She hadn't been condescending or maternal at all. She'd treated me as an equal. She still did. She sent me owls and talked to me when she came over to visit Landon; she was generally interested in my life, and I'd come to rely on her like a big sister. "Now, what's wrong? Might this have anything to do with the night of the ball?"

"Has Landon said anything to you?" 

"You really shouldn't answer a question with a question, you know. It's bad form," she said. I looked up at her, ready to smack her upside the head, but she was smiling at me. Here, she'd already managed to figure out why I was upset, lighten the mood, and get me to calm down and rationalize things. "Now what's going on?" 

"Promise not to tell?" 

"Emily," Charlotte said. She seemed to be thinking about something, and I knew what she would say. Char was the most responsible person that I knew (besides Mum) and she would most likely answer in the way that I suspected. She shook her head. "I can't promise that."

Maybe I should take Divination.

"Then I can't tell you," I said, standing up. She grabbed my arm before I could make it out of the compartment. 

"Your hair is a mess." 

"So fix it." 

"Sit down and tell me what's wrong. I want to help you." 

"Are you going to tell?" 

She thought for a moment, as she had before, but this time nodded her head in the universal 'yes' gesture. "Promise. Now sit down and let me brush your hair." Charlotte is one of those people who isn't overly concerned about appearances, but isn't above carrying a comb, lip-gloss and a compact in her purse. I also trust her unconditionally, so I spilled everything, pausing only to say 'ow' when she hit a tangle. Surprisingly enough, she understood. 

"It's just that…I want to be rid of it. I don't want them to know, because then it will never go away. I'll never forget it as it is, I don't want constant reminders of it, I don't want to rehash it at some judge's whim, I…I just want to feel safe again." 

"So you haven't told your parents?" 

"Are you kidding me? That's like…jumping from the fire to the frying pan!" 

"You mean from the frying pan into the fire?" 

"Whatever." 

"Stop moving, I'm trying to get this braid straight." 

"So you won't tell, then?" 

"I swore, didn't I? I wish I could help you out, Emily. I don't know what to say. But if you ever need to talk…well, you know. Don't hesitate and all that."

"I won't." 

"You looked like you needed to get something off of your chest. Even though I don't have any advice to offer you, I'd like to think that just listening helped. So if you ever just need someone to listen…"

"Right." She did help. More than she realized. I didn't want false reassurance that it would all be all right, I just wanted someone to listen and I found that confidante in Charlotte. She said that once, she and Landon had a conversation about me. Usually, you don't tell someone that, but she told me that Landon had said that even thought I was a pain, life certainly would be boring without me-of course, we were both much younger then, and I didn't think that I was a pain now. In fact, I think that he rather enjoys my company now- and that he wouldn't trade me for the world. That's not really something that you'd hear Landon say, but he did. Charlotte responded by asking if she could keep me, since she'd always wanted a little sister. Needless to say, hearing all of this certainly gave my ego a boost. 

"Anything else going on? Quidditch, school," she smiled mischievously, "Boys?" 

"No," I said. I was sick of everyone talking to me about boys. I mean, Dad practically had a coronary when I mentioned that I was inviting Kyle over to practice Quidditch once. Of course, when I told Rachel about this, she started getting all guinea pig on me, squealing left and right. I ask you; can't you be friends with someone without having a hot and steamy affair in her world? She has definitely read too many cheap romance novels. I think that her image of reality has been distorted by mass media and their precognitive depiction of romance. 

"All right," she said. "You know, I started dating James in the fourth year." 

"Really?" Did I care about this? I'd rather stick my head down Moaning Myrtle's toilet while listening to Luciano Pavarotti singing in the background, having Mum read to me from _Hogwarts: Yet Another Revised History_, Rachel and Meghan each reading one of my palms and Professor Snape yelling at me for something that certainly wasn't my fault (was it ever?). 

She nodded and grinned. "Mm-hmm. They brought back the Yule Ball-you'll go this year, of course- and he finally worked up the courage to ask me. Of course, we'd been skirting around the idea of dating since our second year. I'd toyed with the idea for so long that I was so glad that he finally asked me." 

I wondered what Landon thought about all of this. I love Fiona, and I _do_ think that James and Charlotte make a really sweet couple, but I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't entertained the idea of Charlotte Bronte as my sister-in-law. They'd have four redheaded children, running around and spurting out useless information that no one really cared about, only humoured them because they looked so cute while doing it- spitting when the hit _s_'s, because they'd recently lost their two front teeth, freckles glowing, big blue-green eyes, and just the right height. Not tall and thin like Landon and I, but somewhere in between. I'd always thought, and I know that Mum and Dad did as well, because I'd heard this conversation through kitchen doors many times, that Landon and Charlotte would be adorable as a couple. Mum and Dad's conversation had been talking about our future. They were setting trust funds away for us three kids, and were debating whether to use Landon's for his university education or save it until he got married. It then rolled around to _who he would marry, and if it would be anyone that they knew. Of course, they loved Fiona as well. She'd become almost a permanent part of our family since she and Landon had been dating the past two years. But I knew that they'd always pictured Landon with Charlotte as well. It would fit, as they were so much like Mum and Dad in the way that they got together (or would have, if they ever got together). They'd be perfect for each other (It was well known to me that Charlotte was certainly _not_ the neatest person in the world, while Landon was freakishly organized. Their little idiosyncrasies balanced each other out which made them perfect), in my opinion, it was just a matter of if, and when, those two would figure it out._

The train lurched and came to a halt. I fell off my seat while Charlotte was still braiding my hair. Needless to say, that was pretty painful and I never let anyone do my hair on the train again.  We opened the door to the compartment, and found a few unfortunate people who were standing or walking to be on the floor in what appeared to be very painful positions. I let out a snort of laughter, but with a look from Charlotte, I fell silent. When we saw a huge man tearing down the car, wand at the ready, I knew that I was in trouble. 

"Miss Weasley," he said, gasping when he saw me. People were sticking their heads out of compartments and watching what was going on. This was so humiliating. "Miss Weasley, please do not do that again. You are my charge only until the end of the day. Please, will you follow decorum?" Whatever the hell that meant. It was then that he saw Charlotte. He grabbed her arm and sandwiched her against the wall. 

"What are you doing?" I shouted, launching myself at him in manner of David and Goliath. I was pounding on his huge back with fists that were minuscule in comparison to his gargantuan body. "Let her go!" 

"Who are you!" he shouted at Charlotte. Before giving her time to answer, he shouted again, "What do you want with her! Well, out with it!" His wand was dangerously close to touching the tip of her pointy (although attractive) nose. He was just about to ask her what her grandmother's aunt's landlord's cat's previous owner's second cousin's mother's maiden name was when Professors made their way down the hallway. Someone ripped me off of Gaston's back, and somehow managed to pull Charlotte out of his over zealous grasp. I was still fighting (by means of kicking, screaming and punching the air) while someone's arms were clasped firmly around my middle. My flailing was futile, but that didn't bother me. 

"Emily Grace Weasley, would you bloody calm down!" a voice said to me. I quickly stopped and turned around to look into the face of my father. 

"Dad?" 


	7. Chapter VI

**Author's Note: **I'm went on vacation!!! Woo-hoo! Enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to review, happy children! 

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and Co. is the intellectual property of JK Rowling. No infringement is intended. 

Chapter VI: _That's My Girl_

"Hi, Emily."

"Dad, what are you _doing_ here?" I asked him. This was a little creepy. Hogwarts was _my_ space. _I_ was on top, _I_ had my own reputation, _I_ was the Reigning Queen of Quidditch, and _I_ didn't need my dad buggering it up. I was sure that he'd constantly be breathing down my back, second-guessing my relationships with boys because that's just the way that my dad is, and I wouldn't be able to have any fun! I had this master plan that was three years in the making and was to be executed this year- upon stealing the Invisibility Cloak from James and Landon, I would sneak down to Snape's cupboard and switch all of his powdered ingredients to different jars with different labels so when he wanted to demonstrate a potion to us, it would be the wrong ingredients, explode in his face-rather, his big nose- and he would be humiliated in front of the entire class. Better yet, Kyle and Tom had help me plan it so that his cauldron would react to certain chemicals, and when they were added, he'd be reminded of a rather nasty incident years ago when a large hat with a stuffed vulture on top appeared on his head. Dad would have a fit if he found out if I did that. Albeit, a laughing fit, but Snape would make sure that Dad knew and then I would _have_ to get in trouble. -And with Dad there, I wouldn't be able to mess around at all.

Although it _was_ good to see him alive. 

"Well-I-erm-"

Professors McGonagall and Snape were both talking rapidly to Gaston about his rash and unacceptable behaviour. Although Snape didn't tend to like Gryffindors, Charlotte's sweet ways were able to win over even the most hardhearted man- even if he refused to show it. Professor Dumbledore, who had confided in Mum and Dad that he didn't plan on retiring until Jack was through Hogwarts, was standing with his usual twinkling eyes narrowed at this man for causing a disturbance on his train and quite upset that he had the gall to rile up the students, who were peering out of their compartments in questioning, and accost the Head Girl. 

"Why did you leave Gaston, Emily?" he asked me instead of answering, with his hands on my shoulders and bent so he could look me in the eye. I raised my chin defiantly to stare into his questioning eyes that, although hard with scolding, were soft with the typical fatherly love that I was used to seeing from him. 

I shrugged. When Mum and Dad asked a question like this, one that other parents may ask rhetorically, they sincerely wanted an honest answer. I wasn't sure that I liked this method - it made us confess to motives that we didn't usually want to think about, such as 'I was mad' and see how stupid and unfounded our actions were. But one thing that I did like about Mum and Dad's disciplinary actions was that they wanted to think like we were and to see what was going on in our heads that would cause us to do what we did. They understood that it is very hard to sit and do nothing when antagonized, so they empathize but not without discipline. They never jumped to conclusions when we were in trouble (or at least Mum didn't) and wanted us to explain things to them. I told myself that when I had children, I would adapt this method as well. I learned a lot from my parents, as everyone does, I suppose, and I knew that whatever they were doing, they were doing it right. 

"He was…I just…I wanted to be alone," I told him.

"And yet, you decided to spend your time 'alone' talking to Charlotte? Hello, Charlotte, are you all right?" 

"I'm fine, Mr. Weasley, thank you," she replied as she pretended not to be listening to our conversation. Dad nodded at her before averting his attention back to me. 

"Look," he said, "I know how you feel. I hate having these people around as much as you do." He nodded his head in the direction of Gaston, who was still under the torment of McGonagall and Snape while Dumbledore, and now Charlotte, pierced him with cold glares. "But," There's always a 'but', "You really haven't a choice. Mum and I told the Artemis that it really wasn't necessary, but he doesn't really like listening to us. Besides, after the incident at the Ball, he thinks it best that we travel escorted for the time being. I know that you don't like it, and I know that it's an adjustment, but you're not the only one making it. Just try to make do, all right? There's only an hour to Hogwarts; you can deal with it." 

I nodded, and Dad sent a wink and a grin at me. "That's my girl." 

Ugh, it was starting. My reputation was already beginning to crumble under the weight of fatherly terminology. 

I smiled at him, nonetheless, and noticed that while he was speaking to me the train had started moving again

"So, what _are_ you doing here, Dad?" 

"You'll find out sooner or later," he said, with another wink. I hated it when he did that, and promptly told him so. 

"Too bad," he said to me. Exasperated, I let out a sigh, grabbed the back of Godzilla's collar, and dragged him down the hall with me back to the compartment. I head Charlotte's suppressed giggles, and envisioned Dad's eyes twinkling.

Dad was right; it was only an hour to Hogwarts. Soon, the train was pulling up to the station, and we took seats in the horseless carriages. 

Rachel had slipped into what I called 'Prom Queen' mode. As soon as we stepped out of the Hogwarts Express, she was all flipping hair, smiling, waving and flirting. Of course, it would take her five hours to get ready every morning and the carefree, fun-loving best friend that I had come to know would only come out every once in awhile- usually after lights out- and Prom Queen Rachel would take over. She was the model now and everyone knew it. If they didn't, then they sure as hell would. It really pissed me off. 

Ron… 

Emily was surprised to see me. I'd expected as much, but she looked as if she were ready to throw me out of the train. I wasn't quite sure if that was because she wanted to go on beating the bloke up or because she didn't want me at Hogwarts. I wouldn't blame her on either respect. 

Dumbledore was quite happy to have me taking Hagrid's place as the teacher of Care of Magical Creatures. I was quite happy to have it. Albus was the only one that we told of the case (we told him after he hired me) and was delighted that he could be of assistance. He had been quite shaken up over Fitzgerald's death, as everyone who knew the man was. 

The case was going nowhere, and there were rumours of the case being abandoned. Hermione insisted that she wouldn't let that happen for a while, but then had to step back and look at the whole thing retrospectively. Had she not had any personal involvement in the case, she said, then she probably would close it unsolved as much as she hated to. We had a pretty big row over that, but then I came to see the reason of what she said. We had no leads, no suspects, and no witnesses. The killer was good and left no evidence for even our best forensic scientists to pick up. What did we have to go on? Despite the immobility of the case, I came to Hogwarts anyway. Harry, Hermione and I were still uneasy about leaving Emily by herself. True, Hogwarts is the safest place on earth, but for someone who can get away with killing a judge in a building swarming with MADD operatives and get away without a trace, it shouldn't be too hard a place to infiltrate.

Emily… 

The Sorting always seemed perpetually long to me. I just wanted the food, baby. Hogwarts food was even better than Grandmum Weasley's, and that was a pretty hard quota to top. This Sorting was somewhat more interesting, though. We got to see which House Will would be placed in. Although I'd like to see him in Gryffindor, he seemed like a Hufflepuff to me. 

I still didn't know what Dad was doing. He was sitting at the staff table, talking with Professor Dumbledore as McGonagall led the first years and a very embarrassed Will into the Great Hall. One by one, they came up to the stool and were sorted into their proper house.  

When Will came up, he seemed like he was nervous but trying to hide it under a cocky swagger that certainly didn't suit him. He may have been the big-man on campus at his old school, but this was _my_ turf. 

As cute as he was, I was starting not to like the bloke. I mean, he never said anything, kept to him self in a very snobby, I'm-too-good-for-you kind of way, and he insisted on taking the window seat on the Hogwarts Express. A complete waste of space. 

"Gryffindor!" the hat shouted. Oh well, I supposed that I would have to put up with him this year. Maybe he would loosen up. He took the seat next to Kyle as the rest of the first-years were sorted and the two of them began to have a hushed conversation even as Professor Dumbledore stood to make his speech. 

"Welcome to a new year here at Hogwarts!" he said, beaming. "A few new things will be taking place. Mr. Flytrap, our new caretaker, has posted a list of things that were previously prohibited that he now gives permission for you, the students, to use. However, he requests that you use moderation and also take note to the list of prohibited items that he has also posted. I trust that you will all…erm…adhere to his wishes," he stole an amused glance in the direction of Fiona and Jessie, two seventh years who loved to cause trouble. He continued, "Also, I would like to announce this year's Head Boy and Girl- two students that I believe are competent in every way, and exude the exemplary traits that I wish all Hogwarts students would emulate." 

May I gag?

"Landon Weasley and Charlotte Bronte, both from Gryffindor, will be taking over those positions this year.

"I am also pleased to announce that we have two new staff members this year. Taking over for Madame Hooch, may she rest in peace, will be Mr. Oliver Wood, former Keeper for England's national Quidditch team!" 

Applause exploded in the Great Hall, the loudest of which came from me. Wood insisted on standing up and making a speech. 

"I would like to say," he started, trying on a professional air that certainly didn't suit him (he was friends with Dad, Uncle Harry and my twin uncles), "That this should be a very good season for Quidditch! This year, we will be re-trying out all of the team members along with the potential players. Sign-ups will be in the Common Rooms, and try-outs should be next week sometime. And on behalf of Quidditch lovers everywhere, namely, this man," he pointed to Dad who chuckled, "Quidditch rocks. Hogwarts rocks, too. And…where is she? There! Emily Weasley rocks all! You are _awesome_, Em! I am counting on you, for several bets are riding on your shoulders, got it? Thank you, and see you on the pitch!" 

"Thank you, Mr. Wood, for that…stimulating…speech. Also joining us this year will be Doctor Ronald Weasley teaching Care of Magical Creatures, for all of you that are signed up for the class." The applause was almost bigger for Dad than Mr. Wood, the loudest of which came from Gryffindors- namely, the Weasleys. Dad's ears took on a tinge of pink as he grinned sheepishly. "Would you care to make a few words, Ron?" The Headmaster asked. Dad shook his head. It appeared that the sooner he wasn't the centre of attention, the better. 

So, Dad was teaching at Hogwarts. Bugger. 

Ron… 

I got home rather late that night. Jack was already in bed, and I assumed that Hermione would be upstairs as well. She had left a note on the fridge, telling me just how long to heat up the leftovers. But, of course, with Hermione's culinary skills, if I left it in the stove this long it would probably be burnt to a crisp. I wasn't very hungry after the speech, though, so I went upstairs, expecting to find Hermione reading in bed. Perhaps it was just the familiarity of being together or the slight paranoia from years past that kept us from sleeping comfortably and soundly unless in the other's arms, but unless Hermione was there, I slept fitfully, if I even was able to sleep at all. And I knew that whenever I worked late, she never slept until I came home, no matter how late it was. I would always find her reading in bed, taking a catnap, or just lying there. I didn't mind; quite honestly, it made me feel loved. When I went upstairs, I cracked open the door to Jack's room, as usual. He was sleeping soundly, his sheets balled up into knots at the foot of his bed. I entered quietly and righted them, tucking them to his chin. 

"Goodnight, Daddy," he said, not opening his eyes. 

"Good night, Jack." 

As I walked into the master bedroom, I was greeted with the heavy smell of perfume. I wondered what Hermione was up to as I tried not to cough from the cloud of lavender that was wafting in my direction. Hermione wasn't in bed. 

"Mione? Where are you?" 

No answer. I followed the smell, and had to bit back my laughter at what I saw. Hermione was lying in the bathtub under a mountain of bubbles, a facial mask on, cucumbers on her eyes, her hair tied up, chamber music playing and candles lit everywhere. The look on her face was of utter relaxation, which I figured was good for her. She had been working very hard lately, and could go for some relaxing. She appeared to be asleep. 

"Hermione? What are you doing?" I asked her.

"Expholiating." 

"Oh…right." 

I was about to suggest a massage to help with the relaxing, when she sat upright, the cucumbers falling from her eyes. Five…four…three…two…

"I've just thought of something!" 

"What's that?" 

"Hand me my robe, please."

"Explain," I said, as I handed over the bathrobe. 

"I can't believe that I've only just thought of this. What if Fitzgerald wasn't entirely innocent? What if he…he made a deal, and couldn't keep up his end, and the time was up, so they sent out a hit man, and-"

"Wait, wait, slow down," I beseeched. 

"No time," she said, pulling on a jumper. She had been getting dressed throughout her tirade. "Get me Atticus, please. I'll be at the office." She haphazardly twisted her hair and stuck two chopsticks like things in it, and somehow, it managed to stay in a bun. "Don't wait up."

"Can't this wait until the morning?" 

"No." She grabbed her briefcase and walked out of the room to disapparate from downstairs. Would I get any sleep that night? Probably not. 


	8. Chapter VII

Chapter VII: _Unsuspected Turns of Events_

"Here ya go," said Kyle passing around the Gryffindor schedules. I looked at mine and furrowed my eyebrows. Potions with Slytherin _again_ on Mondays and Fridays, DADA with Ravenclaw on Tuesday and Wednesday, Care of Magical Creatures on Monday and Thursday. The rest of our schedule was the same as usual, though, and it was already starting to drive me crazy. Kyle and I walked down to Care of Magical Creatures after breakfast, and I was anxiously awaiting Dad's class. I wasn't expecting it to be anything difficult; in fact, I was quite looking forward to an easy, goof-off class. The air was crisp for the beginning of September and my hopes for an Indian Summer were slowly being deflated. Leaves were still on the trees, thankfully. Dad was waiting for us next to an empty paddock. 

"Hello," he greeted us. "Well, considering that we're about to be spending the entire year together, I suppose that I should know who you are and we should get some things straight, eh?" 

It was quite evident already that Dad was not a natural teacher.

"First off, don't talk while I'm talking. It drives me mad, and if you do it then I'm afraid that I'll have to force you to spend an entire day in the office with my wife. Trust me, it's not fun." A few people laughed, but I could tell that he was rather serious. "Second, please participate in class. It will make my job much easier. Also, if you could please do your homework." He paused momentarily, and with a derisive snort, said, "You know, I never thought that I'd say that. I mean, I supposed that I would at some point, but I'd always thought that my tongue would burn the first time that those words came out of my mouth. Hmmm. Right, well, I suppose that I should take role, now." Dad stood there, surveying the class. His eyes were twinkling, and I assumed that he was reminiscing about something- perhaps his fourth year. 

"Erm…Mr. Weasley?" asked one know-it-all Slytherin girl, Priscilla Simmons. 

"Hmm?" asked Dad, slipping out of his reverie. "Oh, right. Class. Erm…is everyone here?" We all nodded. "Good. Let's get started, then. Follow me. Oh, and you can leave those books here. We won't be needing them."

Finally! Someone who knew how to teach! Dad walked into the Forbidden Forest, and we all followed him. I was walking with Kyle when I heard him calling my name and waving me towards him. 

"I hate to be paranoid," he began –uh-oh-, "But I'd prefer it if you stuck with me while in the forest, all right?" I stared at him and heard Priscilla Simmons snickering with her friends behind me. 

"Why don't you just shut it, _Prissy_. _My_ mum is the Mistress of Magic, in case you haven't heard, and _our_ family requires maximum security," I said haughtily, delighting to myself at the glare that she gave me. Dad looked down at me with his eyebrows raised in surprise and came across entirely unsure of how to handle this. No doubt he was reminded of Draco Malfoy and could empathize with me; he was also reminded of Professor Snape and was unwilling to show favouritism. The moral dilemma was evident on his face, and it appeared as if he had decided to play deaf. 

"Mudblood mother," she whispered to her best friend, Christina (Chrissy and Prissy- classic) who giggled. Dad and I both whipped around at that, causing a slight domino effect. I decided that my reacting would probably lose Gryffindor points if it got back to the proper teacher, but Dad reacting would lose Slytherin points no matter what. 

"If I ever…_ever_… hear _anything_ like that come out of your mouth _again, _I will personally see to it that you _never_ receive a passing grade in this class. Is that _clear_, Miss Simmons?" She remained impassive and only glared at him. I could see already that this would turn out badly for me. "Twenty points from Slytherin," he added before turning around and continuing the trek through the forest. I nodded my agreement to Priscilla, receiving a glare that could only rival the one that I was giving her, and I followed Dad through the forest. 

"But Mr. Weasley-"

_"Professor,"_ I corrected. All right, so it wasn't exactly _constructive _per say, but I got my point across.

"_Professor_," she said with a sarcastic role of her eyes that, luckily, Dad couldn't see (I responded with a rude action that Priscilla was quite used to seeing from me- she and my middle finger were quite good friends these days), "Isn't that a rather harsh penalty for the use of language? Really, sir, when one puts the matter to thought, it is obviously a question of values and standards. What may be yours, sir, may not be mine. Is it not unfair for you to impress those morals on to me?" 

He spun again. "Let me tell you something- I don't give a damn about morals or whatever the hell you were talking about. That is completely intolerable no matter where you place your standards, rather, in _your_ case, Miss Simmons, how low they may be. This discussion is over." 

Dear old Dad. I gave him a high-five when Prissy wasn't looking.

"Em! Emily! Wait up!" Kyle was jogging around from the back of the line up to where Dad and I were walking. 

"Hello, Kyle," Dad said just as I was saying, "Hey." 

"Way to tell 'er off, Mr. Wheeze!" Kyle exclaimed, clapping Dad on the back. I don't know where the nickname originated, but Dad usually laughed whenever Kyle used it. "It was about time that somebody did!" 

"Well…thanks, Kyle, I'm…er…glad to have your approval." 

"No problem, mate, no problem!" We walked further in the woods, Kyle and I chatting and Dad still fuming. I had to admit that this forest _did_ give me the creeps. You couldn't see more than three or four feet in front of you because the bloody trees were so dense. I'd heard stories (who in our family hadn't?) about giant spiders, dead Death Eaters, flying cars, centaurs, unicorns, werewolves, and the like. 

"Stay here," Dad said to Kyle and I. When we stopped, the rest of the class did and broke off into their little cliques as Dad moved forward. A portion of the forest surrounding a large clearing was roped off. I assumed that this was where we would be having today's first lesson. 

"All right, everyone!" Dad called to us. Kyle and I stepped over the rope first and everyone followed. We all crowded around Dad as he knelt down on the ground and showed us a small hole in the ground. "Today, I want you to find a graphook. These things are the most annoying creatures to catch, but they're pretty useful so listen up. Watch out for their horns; it's best to try to grab their tails. Their bodies are small, so they won't be able to whip around and get you. I want you to take all the notes that you can on these things, so get into partners." Kyle and I immediately moved towards each other. Dad saw this and scowled just slightly. He must not have had a good night. "All right," he continued, "Have at it." 

Kyle and I attempted to grab a graphook, but we were getting nowhere with Kyle being cautious and trying not to be bit by one of the little blighters. Finally, I shoved him the parchment and quill and pushed him aside. With dragonhide gloves on, how bad could you be hurt? Besides, the hospital matron could fix anything. How long would it hurt. I plunged my hand into the tunnel, feeling around for something. I curse rather loudly as I felt hundreds of little teeth rip into my arm, but recovered by pulling my arm out- and the little creature that came along with it. 

"What did you do?" Dad asked me, approaching the hole that Kyle and I were working around. 

"I don't know! Get it off! Get it off!" I shouted, waving my arm around, trying to shake the little thing off. Dad grabbed my arm and manipulated the little thing until it eased up and he was able to pull it off.  "What is it?" I asked, assuming that it would be something deadly and poisonous. I could already feel the poison seeping through my veins. Yes, this was it. My vision was blurred, and the last thing that I would see was my entire class standing over me, Kyle absolutely appalled at the sight of blood on my arm, and Dad holding that horrible, deadly creature that had been my demise. Death, come quickly, and do not let me suffer! "Am I going to die, Dad?" 

I heard Dad chuckling as the rest of the class stared on apprehensively. 

"Do you know what this is, Emily?" he asked me, still smiling.

I was gasping for breath and clutching at my chest. I would depart nobly. "What is it?" I asked very painfully, yet trying to put on a brave face.

Dad chuckled again. "This," he said, holding up the kicking little thing, "is a forest gnome. A very close relative to the garden gnome." The rest of the class laughed now as I sat up, quite alarmed that I wasn't going to die after I put on that big scene. Dad looked at my bloody arm again, and told me to go to the hospital wing and get it bandaged up. 

"You're _sure_ that I'm not going to die?" I asked. You know, just to make sure.

"Positive," he said, still chuckling. I set off back to the castle when Dad called for me to stop. "Go with her, Kyle," I heard him say. So he was worried. Hmmm…

Ron… 

Working on less than a two-hour sleep certainly did not agree with me. After Hermione dashed out of the house last night, still soaking wet, I crawled in to bed. It dawned on me that even though Hermione wasn't wrapped up in appearances, she did have something called dignity and never liked to be less than her best. Also, considering that she left candles on, a potential fire hazard, I figured that whatever she was thinking about must have been urgent. I will never understand her. So, I Flooed Harry and Ginny- they're quite used to me waking them up- and told them what was going on. Harry did agree with me- Hermione was getting prematurely senile. Ginny volunteered to come over and stay at our house with Jack, _'Since I'm _already _awake, and all…'_ and I met Harry at Hermione's office. 

"'Bout time you two showed up," Hermione said. Lincoln was sitting on the couch with her, trying to stay awake and holding a cup of tea in his shaking hands. Juliet was snoozing in an armchair, and even Artemis looked as if he would be falling asleep on his feet. Hermione was surrounded with papers and files. She was sorting through them sporadically, occasionally stopping to circle something and throw it into a random pile. She'd pick something else up without any order or reason at all, make sense of it, and throw it right back into the mix of things. 

"What exactly are you…doing?" Harry asked, voicing my thoughts. 

"Up until now, we've been going on what we know about Fitzgerald, giving him the benefit of a doubt. _But_, what if we've been wrong? We've only seen the one aspect of his life: work. His personal life surely must be different, and I think that we're missing something that these files can enlighten us," she said, still circling and tossing. "Help me sort through these." 

"What are we looking for," Harry asked, seating himself on the ground and leaning against the sofa. 

"Anything that could be useful," Lincoln answered. "Hermione, I think that you're shooting in the dark. We have no suspects, and this man's record is virtually clean. This case is going nowhere." 

"No- his record is _not_ clean. Repeatedly, in what I've read so far, he's made several transactions to a Swiss bank account." 

"So maybe he wants to keep his money safe?" I suggested.

"In an offshore account?" 

"Why not? _We _have an offshore account," I pointed out. 

"But _that's_ different. That's Landon's college money. That's there in case something happens, his future won't be destroyed and he can take care of Emily and Jack. _We're_ not hiding anything." 

"And you think that Fitzy was?" Harry asked. Hermione scowled at the nickname. 

"He could have been. He has all the means."

"Well _you_ have all the means of being a prostitute, and you're not, are you?" Lincoln said sardonically, picking up one of the files from the ground. 

Hermione chose to ignore this, and said, "Juliet?" 

"What?" the girl said from her half-asleep state on the couch. 

"Could you please make an appointment with the Fitzgeralds? I'd like to speak with them about a few things."

"You're not going to harass them, are you?" Harry asked her, scrutinizing a piece of parchment. 

"Of course not," she said, off-handily before turning back to Juliet, "And could you please get me his bank statement?"

"Gringotts, Muggle or Swiss?" asked Juliet, wearily rising. I couldn't help but be reminded of cheese. 

"All three." 

"And his wife's?" 

"Yes." 

"Give me ten minutes." 

"All right," Harry put in, "say that we _were_ to find something out of place in his bank statement. Who's to say that it's related to his murder?" 

"It might not be, but it's worth a shot," said Hermione, brushing a still wet curl out of her face and going back to the parchment in her hand. I joined her and Harry, not finding anything especially interesting about the files that we had. Top of his class at Hogwarts, of Muggle parentage, married his summer sweetheart, five children. There was nothing incriminating on him anywhere.

But the numbers don't lie.

Juliet entered half an hour later, carrying stacks of manila envelopes. The Ministry had members placed in all British intelligence offices, posed as Muggles, to track down any information if necessary. Our contacts in the CIA were always ready to lend a hand. Hermione immediately seized the Gringotts records from the past six months while Harry and I sorted through the Swiss account. My thoughts took me immediately to the month of July. Lincoln took the Muggle account to the same month and found a huge withdrawal. Hermione concurred the same from the Gringotts account, and I cross-referenced the Swiss account only to find a monstrous deposit in Eurodollars. Harry noted all of this, and began sorting through the later pages of the Swiss statement for the month of July. 

"Look at this," he said, holding a copied piece of stationary on which a hastily written letter proved to be one of our first major pieces of evidence giving full permission for the amount previously deposited to be withdrawn by a Mr. Richard Tucker, Esquire.

Lincoln snorted. "Esquire?" 

"Richard Tucker…" I ran the name over in my head. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. "Where have I heard that before?" 

"I don't know," said Harry, wearing the same expression that I was. 

"It's very familiar," said Hermione. Surprising. I was expecting her to be able to tell us the answer, as always, but here she was just as confused as we were. "Juliet, can you have Atticus run a background check on-"

"Already ahead of you, ma'am," said Juliet, leaving to discover all about Richard Tucker. 

I had a feeling that this case just took a new lease on life.

_Emily…_

The sign-up sheet for Quidditch tryouts was posted in the common room two days after school started, true to Mr. Wood's word. I was pleased to see that everyone who had been on the team last year had signed his or her name to the list, as well as some first years and people who just had nothing better to do with their time. 

The tryouts were bright and early Saturday morning. I was awake before Meg or Rachel, ready to head down to the pitch. They told me that they would come and watch, but they weren't really early risers. I opened my trunk and took out my _Comet's Tail. _This broom was only a year and a half old- a gift from Mum and Dad when I first was drafted to the Cannons. It needed a good polishing before the big tryout today, and I thought that I should clip the tail end of it a little bit, just to spruce it up. All in all, the morning was starting out quite well. I took my broom down to the common room, and found several members of the team already awake with their broomsticks. My cousin James was in the centre, giving a play by play of the Ireland vs. Northern Ireland Quidditch game (that he and Landon went to see much to my disliking). Nervous hopefuls were sitting to themselves, trembling slightly at the prospect of being up against the seven of us who played together last year. I hate to admit it, but even I was a little nervous. At nine o'clock, we decided to head down to the pitch and get some practice flying in before the tryouts at nine thirty. I noticed as I walked out the portrait hole that Will was descending the steps from the boys' dormitories with a broomstick in hand. 

It felt so good to be on my broom in the good old Hogwarts stadium. Once in the air, I took a golf ball from my pocket and threw it as hard as I could downward, before pointing my broom and zooming down after it, hand extended. It took a few seconds before I felt my fingers curl around the hard plastic and I pulled out of the dive. Ah…Quidditch. I saw Mr. Wood walk on to the field, and saw Meg and Rachel join the number of people in the stands. Many of the teachers were also present, but that didn't faze me. If anything, I was looking for a chance to show off…but let's just keep that between us. 

Wood lit sparks with his wand, and all of us who were in the air came to a halt on the ground in front of him. 

"Break up into houses," he told his, lugging crates of Bludgers over to where we were assembled. "Chasers first. I want a mini game of just potential chasers first between Gryffindor and Slytherin. First six, go." Six Chasers looked in between each other, unsure of who was going to go first, before they kicked off into the air. Wood let out the Quaffles, and everyone clambered to get them. It took awhile before they got into the swing of things, but soon they were zooming back and forth, passing and scoring (considering that there weren't any Keepers yet). Occasionally, Wood would pull someone out, and substitute another Chaser Hopeful, before he had it narrowed down to five Chasers per team. 

"All right," he said, when all of them were on the ground. "You all are done. Lists posted Monday. But for now, I'd like to keep Ernest Wilson, Courtney Livingston and Kyle McLaughlin. Keepers, you next. Take your positions, and these Chasers will shoot on you. Go." I was yelling, jumping and carrying on as Kyle scored goal after goal on potential Keepers who weren't as skilled as others. I yelled, jumped and carried on even more when James took his position as Keeper and didn't let anything pass him. I could hear Charlotte and Landon doing the same from the stands. After a while, Beaters were fazed in. Finally, after it was narrowed down to two Keepers per team and four Beaters, it was time for the Seekers to take the sky. This time, however, he wanted everyone trying out for Seeker to take the air. He let dozens of Snitches up into the air, and we had to catch as many as possible until they were all gone. He'd call people out of the air, leaving only the better Seekers in the air to continue. 

I kicked off the ground in one swift motion, ready to get this started. Priscilla Simmons taunted me from her broom not far from mine, but I didn't pay much attention to it. My eyes were searching for the twenty or so Snitches that we were supposed to be catching. As I was scanning the field, I caught a glimpse of gold above the stands over in right field. I dove as fast as I could, and could feel a rush of air behind me as the other Seekers played what the Cannons' coach called "Amoeba Quidditch", all following me in hopes to get it before I would. But they didn't have Comet Tails. I was still in front, but felt someone edging on my right. I turned my head slightly to try to catch my opponent in my peripheral vision, and saw Will, his brow furrowed in concentration and arm extended. Oh no. He had longer arms than I did; I would have to rely purely on speed. I urged my broom to please, please, please go faster. I had to catch this Snitch. Instead of simply going faster, I edged closer to Will, not touching him, but close enough to edge him a little further to the right than he should like to go, leaving me free to steeped my dive and claim the Snitch. But he edged right back until finally, I threw my weight into him, throwing him off course. Everyone who was watching was screaming and cheering when my fingers circled around the small ball and Will was shouting at me. 

Mr. Wood was applauding, and I threw the now motionless Snitch at him. He had bewitched them. It was quite clever. 

Soon, I was darting here and there, racing the remaining Seekers to the Snitch until there were only five of us left to catch three Snitches. I hadn't caught all of them. At times, I would be diving for one while others were diving for another. Now, though, we were all scanning the sky for the same three things. It wouldn't end well for everyone else, I told myself. Since there was no action then, I decided to spice things up and give everyone something to cheer about. 

I tilted the nose of my broom down, and dove fast to the ground. Soon, I was being followed. At the last second, I pulled up and spiralled out of the dive, causing everyone to applaud and cheer loudly. I did a loop-the-loop, smiled and waved at them, very pleased with myself. 

"EMILY WEASLEY!!!!" I heard Wood bellowing at me and saw him waving his arms crazily. I flew down to where he was, cheeks flushed, quite sure that he would congratulate me and ready for the compliment. "What the hell did you think that you were doing?" he yelled at me. 

"I was-"

"Look, we don't need you to show off; we all know that you're good. And when you do some fool dangerous stunt like that, to potentially hurt others, you have crossed a line, young lady!" 

"Yes, sir," I said, hanging my head, somewhat. He was right. "Can I…can I fly again now, sir?" 

"No."

"No?!" 

"No, Emily, you are benched for the rest of the tryout."

"Benched?!" 

"Sit." 

I sat down on the bench, slumped with my arms crossed, fuming. How dare he bench me! I _was_ Quidditch! I sat there in my private volcano until he called everyone together with the promise of the results on Monday. As soon as he said the words 'you're dismissed' I was out of there like a shot, stomping away and refusing to answer Kyle's persistent questions. 

Although Wood did yell at me, when Monday came, I was fully expecting my name to be on the list for the starting Gryffindor Seeker. But there was no list on Monday. At breakfast on Monday morning, Mr. Wood stood up to make an announcement. 

"I'm sure that all of you have been wondering about Quidditch teams," I exchanged an excited glance with Kyle who was sitting across from me. "And I decided that it would be more…interesting to announce the teams rather than post them." Murmurs spread throughout the hall at this news. "For Hufflepuff…"

But I wasn't listening. My blood was humming in my veins as I thought about the prospects of this year. I could be the star Quidditch player. _Quidditch Weekly_ could do a layout on the Gryffindor team. It would all be wonderful!

"For Gryffindor…" This was the moment that I'd been waiting for and, although previously calm, I was nervous and trying to shake the butterflies out of my stomach. 

"Keeper is James Potter."

An explosion of applause rang throughout the Great Hall and shouting from all of his friends.

"Chasers are Kyle McLaughlin" (thunderous cheering from me) "Emma Scott and Chuck Brandt." 

"Beaters are Fiona Finnigan and Jessie Thomas." 

More crazy applause as Jessie and Fiona stood up and took bows in manner of Laurel and Hardy. 

"And Seeker," (I held my breath), "Is Will Tucker." 

My stomach plummeted to the ground. No, _I _was the Seeker. Everyone else in the Hall seemed to be as confused as I was. Kyle looked utterly appalled, as did Dad and McGonagall. This was not happening. I stood up suddenly, gathering my things in a mad rush to get out of there so I could do some screaming. 

_Ron…_

"And Seeker is Will Tucker." 

Ouch. I couldn't believe that they'd chosen Will Tucker over Emily, but I didn't dwell on it. The name 'Will Tucker' stuck in my head. I had met Will before…but where? He was the connection in my mind to Richard Tucker, but I couldn't even get the basics. I watched as Emily stood and stormed out, leaving the heavy wooden doors to slowly shut behind her. She hadn't noticed that, though, because everyone in the Great Hall heard:

_"That measly, good for nothing, son of a-"_ before the doors shut and blocked out the sound. Yep, that's my daughter for ya. McGonagall turned and glared at me as if to say 'what kind of father are you?' but something else struck me. Will Tucker was sitting looking very dejected that his moment of glory had been taken away from him when it hit me. He was at Hermione's election party. He was at the Inaugural Ball. He was Richard Tucker's son. I had met Rich Tucker at the election party- he left the same impression on me as Gilderoy Lockhart. Rich Tucker had been at the Inaugural Ball. 

I quickly stood, gathered my briefcase, took out my cell phone and hit the speed dial for Hermione's office, and strode out of the Great Hall.

"Juliet? Hi, it's Ron. Tell Hermione that I'm on my way over. I think that I've solved out problem." 


	9. Chapter VIII

**Author's Note: **I know that this one has been a long time coming, and the ff.net downtime didn't help much. Although, I was quite grateful for it. I got my nails done somewhere in the middle of the chapter, and it's kind of hard to type. My piano teacher is going to kill me! Review…please!

Chapter VIII: _Interviews_

Hermione was up bright and early he morning that the Fitzgerald's were scheduled to arrive at the Ministry. Dumbledore had given me the day off with barely a blink of an eye- I only had one class to teach. I heard the shower running for all of two minutes, heard the door open, and whoosh of Floo powder as she took Jack to kindergarten. I looked at the clock… a new record- ten minutes. Sluggishly, at least compared to Hermione, I managed to drag myself out of bed, shower and dress before she came home, attempting to wake myself up before the interviews that we would have to endure that day. In addition to Trudy Fitzgerald, the man had five children. The oldest was thirty, the youngest seventeen- Charles, Joyce, Margo, Samuel and Andrew. I was not looking forward to this. I heard the door open and close downstairs, and the frantic fussing in the kitchen that I had come to associate with my nervous wife. I walked downstairs, still too tired to keep my eyes fully open. Hermione had bewitched fruit to cut itself as she poured tea with a shaking hand. She left her breakfast half unmade as she nervously strode into her office, sorting through papers and files before collapsing into her chair with her head in her hands. She went through these meltdowns every now and then when she was especially stressed or had too much on her shoulders. I guessed that this was brought on by nervousness. She'd never enjoyed interviews.

"Hey," I said, walking in the room. I startled her a bit but she didn't move from her position. "Are you all right?" 

"Everything is such a mess, Ron," she cried. She blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks, and I felt for her. Things had been difficult in the Ministry, her stress level had been high, and she had been falling asleep before I came home. 

"I- I just…I can't…" She looked so helpless. 

"Come here," I said, softly, as she stood up and leaned against my chest. She always felt so small in my arms, and I rather liked it. From the very first time, it had always made me feel as if I was protecting her from something. She wrapped her arms around me, and nestled her head into my chest, sighing contentedly. 

"Why can't I just stay here all day?" she asked me. I smiled, but soon frowned as my hand brushed across a tension knot in her back. Her shoulders were so tight. She looked up at me, as if she could feel my concern, and saw it etched all over my face. 

"Turn around," I said, spinning her even as I spoke the words. She flinched as my hands made contact with her shoulders, but soon relaxed. 

"What would I do without you?" I didn't have time to think up a witty remark, for she suddenly remembered something ("Oh!") and ran off again. 

Emily… 

People had been avoiding me all week. They stared at me as if I would blow up at any second. Considering that I was a ticking time bomb, I kept to myself as to keep from severely injuring those who set me off. It was only the considerate thing to do, of course, danger hazard that I am. Even Rachel was wary of speaking to me. Landon, Charlotte and James, on the other hand, were trying their very best to keep my spirits up. I overheard them talking in the Common Room one afternoon: 

"Oh, but I _do_ feel bad for her," Charlotte said. "It would be like…say, if Julia Clemmons was chosen for Head Girl instead of me."

Snorts came from James and Landon. 

"No, really! It sounds like it would never happen, just like it was insane to think that Emily might not be Seeker."

"Yeah…"

"I guess…" 

"Well, what can we do about it? Wood's already chosen Tucker, and he _is_ quite good. Don't look at me like that, man, of _course_ Emily is better… I'm just saying that at least Wood didn't choose some kid who could barely sit on his broom." 

"I don't care if he can fly or not. Emily should have been Seeker."

"I wish that we could do something," Charlotte said. 

"Like what? We'll not change his mind." James appeared to agree, but was still incredulous about the whole thing. I was thinking along these lines- what could they do for me? 

"We could kill Will Tucker." That would work.

"Shut up, Landon." 

"I think the best thing that we can do," Charlotte said with new resolution, "is just…be there for her. Even Rachel is avoiding her; the girl hasn't got any friends that will talk to her."

"So you expect us to be her friends until her friends start talking to her?" James asked. Well, it wasn't exactly killing Will, but I figured that I could settle.

"Why not?" 

"Wouldn't it be weird, though?" Landon asked. "I mean, I am her brother. Come on, she's not going to want to hang about me."

"Who else is she going to hang about, then?" Charlotte protested. "If you all won't extend yourselves, I will." 

"Fine."

"Fine."

I had sunk to a new low. Now my brother and cousin were being forced to hang out with me. I hoped that this wouldn't last long as I returned to my dormitory. As I opened the door, I saw Rachel and Meg, sitting on Meg's four-poster and speaking in whispers. As soon as I walked in and smiled slightly, they stopped talking. Meg became very interested in the view while Rachel fiddled with the comforter. 

"If you were going to talk about me," I said to them, "You could at least have the decency not to do it in my own room." I stooped down and began rummaging in my trunk for my camera equipment when I came upon a small box. 

"Emily-"

"Oh, you're talking to my face now?" I would have left the room at that point, or responded sarcastically to whatever the hell they were saying but I was very curious about this box. I lifted the lid and saw a note sitting atop tissue paper.

_Dear Emily,_

_Just a little something to fill your idle hours. I remembered being taught _'engorgio'_ at the end of my third year. Also, I've enclosed a picture of you and your father that I've always loved. Perhaps you could paint it for me? Do well, darling, and don't forget to owl me!_

_Love You Always,_

_Mum_

_P.S.- I hate to nag, but please finish your homework before you paint! _

I smiled just visibly- how typical of Mum. I removed the tissue paper, and first found the picture of Dad and I. I had seen it before- it had been blown up and framed on the mantle. Dad was asleep, and I was lying on his chest. I must have been one, or so, I was still wearing a diaper. There was a copy of _Quidditch Weekly_ lying there as well, with a cover story on the Cannons. Dad's arm was resting lightly on my back, and my thumb was in my mouth. I'd always liked the picture.  I set it aside, and continued looking through what Mum had packed. There were two drop cloths, an easel, palate, paint set (with refills for the colours that were running low) brushes, the shirt that I always wore while painting (that had Jack's handprints all over it), and three canvasses. 

"- and we really don't know how to-"

"Great, guys," I said, snatching up my wand and treasures. "Bye!" I dashed out of the dormitory and down the stairs. Quickly, I surveyed the room. People were talking in groups, studying, playing chess, reading, snogging…perfect. There was an alcove in part of the room that many people would go to sit and think. At the moment, it was occupied by a snogging couple that was fogging up the bay windows. 

"Excuse me," I said to them, rather loudly. Of course, they were rather occupied… "Excuse me!" At this point, they stopped what they were doing to turn to me with rather appraising glances before going right back to the lip-lock. "EXCUSE ME!!! CLEAR OFF!!!" Now, I had not only attracted their attention, but that of the entire common room. The couple, a sixth year girl and seventh year boy, was now looking very embarrassed. You know, this really didn't make any sense to me. They would snog in front of the common room- as if no one would see them- but as soon as people did see them, they were ready to kill me. I ask you, what is the purpose of kissing in the common room if you don't want someone to see you? My point is, the only reason for kissing in the common room is to be noticed, and now that they finally were, I had a feeling that they would soon be leaving for the library. I was wrong, though. They didn't go to the library, but only to another dark corner. 

I set a drop cloth on the floor, and another on the window seat before setting everything up. It took a while to find the perfect contingency of Weasley red, but once I had, I quickly wrote down the proportions of paint, water, and how much mixing was necessary. It felt so good to have a brush in my hand again. Every day for the next week I worked on it. I'd set up wards around the area so no one could get in, and made sure that I always placed my extra drop cloth over top of my baby, so no one would see it. 

Wednesday was the first Cannons practice during the school year. We had made an agreement with the school. I would spend all morning doing the assignments for the classes that I would miss that day and turn them in as soon as I was finished. Once all of these were done, I was allowed to go to practice, unless they needed revising or fixing (in the case of potions or transfiguration). I had just finished my work with McGonagall, a particularly hard assignment that involved umbrellas and trombones; my trombone ended up more of a rusty colour- the umbrella had been red- and the edges of the bell were scalloped into what had been ruffles when, I was able to change into my orange robes and dash out of the castle to the portkey in the Three Broomsticks. Usually, I was late to these once-a-week practices because Snape would keep me long in potions since, more or less he hates the sight of me. The sight of me on time was enough to send me elder teammates into fits of amazed laughter. 

Our team was made up of seven very good players. Myself, being Seeker and the youngest; Duncan St. James was about twenty and played Keeper; Amanda Smith, the twenty three year old Beater; Justin Edwards was nearing thirty and completed the dynamic Beating duo. Clinton Livingston, 32, Nick Kraus, 22, and Jane Parker, 25, were our Chasers, and quite good ones at that. Our coach was approaching the team, standing in a cluster under one of the goalposts, and he was looking quite surly. 

"Weasley, you're on time. Will pigs be flying with us today?" he said, narrowing his eyes at me. Dan Wilkinson was a tough coach, but a good one. That didn't mean that we liked him, though.

"No, sir," I said, although it really didn't merit an answer. "Unless you'll be on a broom today," I added under my breath. Duncan, who was standing next to me tried his best to keep from laughing, but was fighting a losing battle. 

As Coach Wilkinson was demonstrating our strategy on a chalkboard, Duncan leaned in close and said, "Do you think he'd manage to get on a broom without breaking it?" I snorted as I tried to control my laughter. The man was about eighty pounds overweight, and how he ever came to be a Quidditch coach was really beyond me. 

There was nothing to take your mind off of something like flying…that is, if flying is what you want to take your mind off of in the first place. I couldn't help thinking, all right, so here I am with a professional Quidditch team and I can't even play for a bloody house team? Surely, the injustice of it all doesn't escape you.

Blue sparks were shot up into the air- a break. As I dove to the ground, I couldn't help but notice a glimpse of red in the stands. Pulling out of the dive, I scanned the arena, trying to figure out where I had caught sight of Weasley red. Sure enough, there was Dad, sitting in the stands and watching me intently. I waved slightly; embarrassed that Daddy came to watch me play. It was bad enough that I was the youngest, now I felt as if I needed to be babysat as well. 

"Hey," asked Duncan, handing me a water bottle, "Where are you today?" 

"Did I mention that I didn't make Gryffindor? I'm the reserve Seeker." Even as I said it, I didn't want to believe it. The words were dripping with disdain 

"Why not?" 

"Excuse me?" 

"I mean," he explained, "Why didn't you make it? Did you mess up the tryouts; was someone better, were you having an off day? What was the reason that kept you off the team? The coach not liking you doesn't count." 

"I don't know why!" I burst. "I was the best, I always have been!" 

"Well, there's your problem right there!" he cried, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Seeing the seething look on my face, he paused, as if unsure what injury might result of his continuing. He wasn't fazed, though, as he continued, "See, Em, if you go in thinking that you're the best, people can sense it. Especially a coach. A coach, however, would mistake your confidence for arrogance."

"But I wasn't arrogant-"

"_You_ don't think that you were. Em, you also play pro! A bunch of these kids who try out won't get out of Hogwarts with their careers. You've got your made, already. Maybe the guy wanted to give other people a chance."

"Damn him." 

Duncan grinned slightly and ran a hand through his brown hair. "You sure are a tough one, aren't you?" 

"Shut up."

I took another long gulp of water, and Duncan and I were joined by Amanda Smith, who talked politely with me about school. I was just explaining to her the Transfigs assignment that I had to do earlier, when Duncan left suddenly to greet a pretty blond girl who had just entered the stadium. 

"Who's that?" I asked Amanda.

"This week's girlfriend. I can't believe he's dating her; she looks like she's fourteen! No offence, of course."

"None at all." I wondered about what was behind my teammate's comment. True, Duncan did have quite a few girlfriends, but the dejected tone of Amanda's voice spoke for itself. 

_Ron…_

MADD Headquarters was alive and buzzing that Friday morning. Wards were being set up since Muggles would be entering for the first time. Obviously, memory charms would be performed upon their leaving, but just as an extra precaution, they were only going to see what was absolutely necessary. Hermione had calmed down somewhat, but was still on pins and needles for the most part. Harry immediately picked up on it, and managed to stay clear. How I envied him. 

My father, who had been head of the Magical/Muggle Relations Department before appointed to Minister, was bringing in the Fitzgeralds. Harry and I would be sitting behind a two-way mirror, of sorts. It was actually a wall a hologram of a wall that Harry and I would be able to see through, but not the Muggles. 

We had five minutes to go, and Hermione was shakily drinking a cup of tea while going over her notes, fluttering about in her trembling hand. Harry noticed this, as I did, and looked as concerned as I did.

"Is she always like this before interviews?" he asked me. It had been awhile since we had done this, and apparently he thought that she was merely nervous from lack of practice. 

"I don't think so. She's been very strange lately."

Harry opened his mouth, no doubt to comment that this was, after all, Hermione, who was always a bit strange to 'common folk' like the two of us, but he was interrupted by someone knocking on the door. My father walked into the room, and through the wall we saw that as we were talking, the Fitzgeralds had entered and began to get as comfortable as possible. Hermione looked up and swallowed hard. It seemed as if she mustered every bit of courage that she had in her just to make the short walk from one room to another. I didn't know what was wrong with her. She never lost her cool in situations like these. She almost never lost her cool at all, for that matter. 

"Good morning," we heard her say to the family as she entered. Brilliant, she was. From the instant that she entered the room, she was so calm and composed, nothing like the wreck that she had been just minutes ago. "Let the record show that I, Hermione Granger-Weasley, am here with the wife and children of the late Justice Beecher Fitzgerald." The magical quill next to me began scratching away everything that Hermione had just said. "Could I offer you some tea, coffee, anything?" 

A round of 'no thank yous' was being written down on the transcript. 

"Excuse me, then," Hermione continued. "I'm not feeling my best and I hope that you don't mind." She poured herself a glass of water. "I'd like to talk to you first, Mrs. Fitzgerald."

"You can call me Trudy," the older, blue-haired woman said.

"Then I insist that you call me Hermione." She took a sip of water and continued, "Could you tell me, Trudy, a little bit about how you and your husband met and how much you knew about him at the time?" 

Trudy smiled and sniffed as tears began to well up in her eyes. Hermione obligingly handed her a handkerchief as she began to speak:

"I first met my husband when I was ten years old. I thought that he was terribly dashing, but I was too shy to even talk to him. He was my older brother's best friend, you see. I knew that he went away to a special boarding school, so he and Frank, my brother, they would spend as much time together as they could during the summer. I got to see him a lot, but…well, let's just say that he never saw me." The older woman had to stop to blow her nose, smiling apologetically at Hermione, who smiled back and nodded reassuringly. Joyce, the oldest daughter, wrapper her arm around her mother's shoulder. 

"You'll have to excuse my mother," Joyce said. "This is very hard for her."

"I understand, take-"

"Do you?" one of the men asked in a very challenging manner that I certainly didn't like. Nobody can talk to my wife that way and get away with it- at least not when I'm visible. "Do you know what it's like for your husband to be murdered?" 

Those words cut like a knife. Hermione attempted to remain impassive; the struggle was evident on her face, but she didn't succeed. She pursed her lips together, as if attempting to rein emotions as her eyes clouded. "No," she said, barely above a whisper.

"I didn't think so."

The tension that hung in the air permeated even to the room that Harry and I were in. We remained silent, even as the quill was scratching away in hopes to take down everything that had just happened. 

"Why don't we take a break," Hermione said after a prolonged pause. "I'll give you all a chance to compose yourselves. Excuse me." She picked up her files and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Harry stopped the quill and looked at me. 

"That was…interesting," he said. "There's _something_ bothering her; you _did_ see what I did, didn't you?" 

"So, you think I'm the one that got her upset?" 

"No, but I want to know if you know why she's upset." 

I sat down, very frustrated. "Do I ever know?" 

"Good point." I knew what he was going to tell me- he had been saying it since we were fifteen. I could shock him and do it without him telling me, but that would ruin all the fun. 

"Why don't you go find out, then?" You know that you've been friends with somebody too long when you can predict what they're going to say. But, of course, I listened to him and went off in search of my wife. Juliet directed me to the bathroom, and when I knocked on the door, I was greeted with the sound of muffled sobs. 

"Come in, Ron," Hermione said. She was leaning on the sink, in a complete mess. I walked inside, and within three seconds, she was sobbing in my arms. This was a position that we had been in many times, but that didn't mean that I was any more comfortable with it. I always felt as if I needed to do something to make her stop crying, when in reality, she just wanted me to hold her and be there. 

"Are you all right?" I couldn't stop myself from asking. She didn't answer, but I could feel her shake her head 'no'. 

"I-I…I just…I can't help but put myself in their position. What would I do, Ron, if you were killed? How would I go on? What would I do? And then, I can't stop myself from thinking about my father. What if he was killed? I wouldn't be able to- I just couldn't- I mean, I-"

"Shhh… shhh, it's all right," I told her. When she started crying over possible scenarios, I had to quiet her or else she wouldn't be able to get over it, and we needed her to finish this interview. "I'm not going to die, Hermione. Well, not soon anyway, we're all going to die- what I mean to say is that I won't be killed. You need to-"

"I've got no right to talk to those people," she said. "No right at all. I'm trying to empathize, but nothing like that has happened to me, and I-"

"Hermione, you have to go in there. There's no way around it. Come on, now, you can cry at home. Clean yourself up, love, and finish what you've started." I figured that it was time for some tough love. She nodded and glanced in the mirror. 

"I _am_ a mess," she said, pointing her wand at her face to fix it. "_Reparo_." 

"Come on," I held my hand out to her, which she took willingly, and we walked back to the interview room. 

"Where were we?" she said, sitting down in her chair. Harry glanced at me as I walked in.

"What did they say about her?" I asked him. Harry grinned. 

"Everything." I turned my attention back to Hermione. 

*

"Trudy, I don't think that it's necessary for you to tell us your entire story with your husband, as it appears to be quite painful for you. Tell me, if you will, about when you first found out about your husband being a wizard," Hermione asked. 

"He told me that the night before he proposed," Trudy answered. 

"And do you remember your reaction?" 

Mrs. Fitzgerald thought for a bit, her eyes clouding over again. "I think," she said, "That I fainted or something. I do remember, though, being quite shocked, naturally. I loved him, though, and that was all that mattered."

"And your children? Were they brought up with the knowledge of their father's…lifestyle?" 

"Oh, yes. He did magic for them and their friends all the time. Of course, it was the typical card tricks for the friends, but in the house he would summon things, fix them, oh all sorts of things." 

Hermione looked down, scribbling a few things down. She had a habit of taking her own notes, even when the transcript was being taken. 

"Trudy, I'm going to cut to the chase here so I don't waste any more of your time. Are you aware that your husband was keeping three bank accounts?" 

The news came as a shock to most of the family, except the son named Samuel. 

"That one," Harry said, pointing to him. "He knows something." I raced to write this down without missing any more of the interrogation. 

"No," Trudy said, "I didn't know that."

"Which accounts did you know about?" 

"The…the goblin one, and the normal one," the woman answered, trying to piece everything together. "I- I don't understand. What's going on?" 

"Did your husband ever tell you anything about an offshore account that he holds in Switzerland?" 

"No.  Ma'am, I really would like to know what's going on. First you drag us out here, and now you're accusing my husband of embezzlement?"

*

"Daddy's little secret," Harry whispered. "Do you know if we got anything on Tucker?" 

"No."

"That worries me," Harry said. "Maybe I'm overreacting, but…Rachel's friends with Will…I don't know what to think of it."

"Me neither. Emily seems quite fond of him."

"Hmmm. Do you think he knows anything about this?" 

"No. But it wouldn't hurt to ask."

"You're right. We should also work on getting his ex-wife in here, somehow." 

"_That_ should be interesting."

*

"Are you familiar with anybody by the name of Richard Tucker?" Hermione was now asking. 

"Now you see here," said Samuel his temper rising. I reached for my wand, ready to burst through the door at a moment's notice.

"Excuse me, sir, could you please sit down until this interrogation is over. Are you, ma'am, or are you not familiar with Richard Tucker?" 

"I will not stand idly by and let you harass my mother like this!" Samuel was shouting. The other two men stood up and were glaring down at Hermione.

"And I will not let this man get away with murder!" Hermione shouted right back. "Rich Tucker, ma'am, do you know him or don't you?" 

"No, I don't," said Trudy softly.

"Thank you, that's all I need to know. She nodded to Harry and I, and we were in the other room in a flash. 

"I'd like to introduce you to my associates," she said to the Fitzgeralds, motioning towards us. "Mr. Potter, would you please escort Samuel here to my office? I need to have a word with him."

"Now," I said, "If the rest of you would just look up here for a second…"

"On three?" Hermione whispered.

"One…Two…Three…"

_"Obliviate!" _we shouted in unison. 


	10. Chapter IX

**Author's Note****:** **All right, so the last few chapters haven't been the most exciting ever, right? Never fear, this is better.** **_Beaucoup d'action_****_!_** ** Whew! It took a long time though. I just finished my English assignment, and was itching to write something other than a commentary on Mark Twain. **

**Anyway… On with the show!**

Chapter IX: _Halloween_

I can't quite tell you when exactly people stopped being edgy around me.  I also couldn't tell you when it was that Will decided that it was his personal mission in life to make me like him. But that is precisely what he did. He would follow me around, begging me to talk to him. All right, maybe I'm a bit cruel, but I did rather like the attention. 

There was one day in particular, the day before Halloween, to be precise, when Will and I came to an understanding that we were on the same level. The poor bloke was following me around after Potions, being his typical self- or at least, typical to _me_.  It was getting very annoying, and I couldn't stop myself. Really, I couldn't.

"Look, Emily," he said, "I'm sorry, OK? I didn't mean to, what I mean to say is-" 

We ran into this problem often. He'd attempt to apologize for beating me without coming right out and saying it, as if afraid to hurt my feelings, or something. I would smile triumphantly to myself when we came to this section of his tirade, inwardly delighting at his inner turmoil. It was a beauteous thing, to see him squirm. Actually, now that Will was talking, well, really, begging for my forgiveness, I rather liked him as much as ignoring him a la Ice Queen and continuing whatever I was doing at the moment. 

I kept right on walking; ignoring whatever it was that he said to me, not caring. Let him apologize all that he wanted. It took a few seconds to realize that he wasn't following me anymore. I dropped a book on purpose, so I could catch a glimpse of what he was doing. As I bent down to pick it up, I noticed that he was standing there, half dejected, half angry.  

He ran to catch up to me, saying, "Won't you at least do _something_? Look, I'm _sorry_ I'm _better_ than you!" 

Ooooooooh. 

I saw red as I felt my fingers curl into fists. Everything around me blurred as my temper was threatening to explode. I didn't notice the people edging around us in the hallway; I didn't notice that I'd just dropped my books; I didn't notice the entourage of teachers, my father (and, strangely, mother and Uncle Harry) included, that were walking towards us in leisurely conversation; I didn't notice my friends standing at a safe distance away from us; I didn't notice Prissy Simmons leering at me from her position leaning on a statue; and I didn't notice that people had stopped to stare. I only saw Will Tucker, fuming mad, and the colour draining from his face, as he must have noticed my eyes flashing dangerously. 

_"Do something?! You want me to do something?! FINE!!" _

Lose my temper, never. But that damn fist. I can't control it. Surprisingly, it went flying into Will Tucker's nose, with a satisfying crack on impact. 

Will was shocked, and his hand immediately flew up to his nose as he gingerly felt it bleeding. For a split second, I thought that he might hit me back, so I brought my fists up protectively as I fixed my stance. 

_"Bloody- ow!"_ He said. "What the _hell_ did you do that for?" 

He took a step forward to, I thought, throw a punch at me. I almost wished that he had- it would make me feel better as I lunged at him, tackling him to the ground and ripping into him even harder. From a distance away, I heard Kyle placing a bet with Tom (I was pleased to know that my friends' bets were in my favour) and my very scandalized mother exclaiming "Emily Grace Weasley!" even as Professor McGonagall was deducting points from Gryffindor for fighting, disrupting the hallway, and lack of house unity. Will pushed me off of him, and pinned me to the ground. It was at this point when things became awkward as we realized our _very_ close proximity and the _very_ intimate position that we were in. Mum, McGonagall, Rachel and Meg all gasped (I could have sworn I heard some giggling from my two latter friends) as a blush crept up onto Will's cheeks and my face burned. In a split second, Uncle Harry pulled Will off of me by the collar of his robes, and I jumped up, ready to hit him again putting me in that position (it was worse that my parents and teachers were right there!), ignoring the tiny voice in my head that told me that I started it. I didn't have the chance to break his jaw (I'd be aiming for a black eye, but after the nose-breaking, he'd certainly have a set of black eyes) for Dad's arms circled around my waist, holding me back. Mum and McGonagall were both yelling at us, Professor Snape was sneering, and Professor Dumbledore, although angry, seemed as if he were trying to hide a grin. His eyes betrayed him, however, because they were as amused as they ever were. 

"Are you quite through?" Dad asked me as I was still struggling to get out of his grasp and attack Will. 

"Geroff, Dad, I'm gonna kill 'im!" I was still twisting like crazy, and managed to kick Dad very hard in the shin.

"Bloody hell, girl!" He released me, and I advanced towards Will again (although he was still in Uncle Harry's clutches) until one of the scariest and intimidating things ever stood in my path. 

"Emily," Mum warned, "If you don't stop this right now, young lady, your Quidditch career ends tonight! This is _no_ way for you to behave; this is entirely unacceptable!" 

"He told me to!" I pointed frantically at Will. 

"You what?" McGonagall inquired as all eyes turned to my sandy haired opponent. 

"Well," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling, "If Miss Weasley was obeying his wishes…" but not many people heard him except me (He winked as I stifled laughter). They were all listening to Will.

"She broke my nose!" 

"Wait, wait, wait!" Uncle Harry interfered. "You _let_ her punch you? You have a lot to learn. This is Emily, Will. You'll not get into a fight with her and come out unharmed."

"She _does_ have a killer right hook," Dad agreed as McGonagall shot him a look of 'What kind of parent are you?' even while Mum sent him an almost identical one, although with a different meaning of 'You're not helping' that were very frightening to see. 

"Perhaps," interjected Snape, "That points from Gryffindor and dual detentions are in order?" 

McGonagall, clearly having an internal battle over agreeing with Snape and being peeved that _he_ was disciplining _her_ students, turned on him, saying, "_I_ will be the one to dole out punishment, thank you, Severus." 

"My dear Professors," Dumbledore interjected, "Miss Weasley and Mr. Tucker clearly need to be escorted to the hospital wing. Perhaps we can continue this debate in a less…accessible area." 

I thoroughly agreed. I was a hair away from cursing Prissy Simmons, who was still hiding behind that statue. My temper was at a high point and my mood was certainly teetering on the edge of fiery red and utter insanity. 

"Get back to class, please," the Headmaster told everyone who was watching in the hallway. 

Rachel didn't listen. She was fussing over Will- "Oh! Oh, Will, are you hurt terribly bad? Oh, let me see, dear, that's horrible! I _do_ hope you're not in too much pain, Will." I nearly laughed out loud at the sickened look on Uncle Harry's face as he watched his daughter flirt gushingly in front of his face. 

"This means you, too, Miss Potter," Dumbledore said, still trying to withhold his grin. 

"Yes, sir," she said, with one final longing look at Will. "I'll come visit you, Will, dear!" As she left, Uncle Harry cleared his throat and she noticed him for the first time. "Oh! Hello, Daddy!" she exclaimed giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Fancy seeing you here!" She apparently thought that she was going to get off without a hitch, for she left Uncle Harry standing there to 'obey Professor Dumbledore and go back to class'. But how very wrong she was. 

"Is she always like this?" My uncle asked me. I nodded, and he clenched his jaw.  "Excuse me," He said to everyone who had been involved in this ordeal as he left to follow Rachel down the hallway.

"Infirmary. Now," McGonagall commanded. 

"But, Professor, why do I need to go to the infirmary? I'm not hurt at all." I was wrong, though. As I picked up my books, I noticed that my hands were covered in blood. I wasn't sure if it was Will's or mine, but once I inspected them, I saw that my knuckles had split from the pressure of the blow. It would only take a second to heal, but I had an idea that there would be more than just healing going on. 

Detention. For three days starting after the Halloween feast. Professor Dumbledore had mercy on us. When I looked at his eyes twinkling, it seemed as if he knew something that I didn't. But then, wasn't that always the case? Mum and Uncle Harry still hadn't told us why they were at school. Oh well, I didn't quite expect them to after what had happened. Besides, I was trying to stay away from Mum at the most part. When she was angry…well, it was best to stay out of her way. 

Will and I were dismissed from Charms, our next class, considering that it was half over anyway. As we walked back to the common room, still not really speaking, he turned suddenly and said-

"So why _did_ you punch me, anyway?" 

I shrugged. I had been wondering about that myself. What had compelled me to punch him besides rage? I couldn't think of anything else, so this was the answer that I supplied. 

"Are we okay?" 

"Well, I'm all right, and you're all right, so I'm thinking that we are all right, as well." Honestly, I didn't know what this kid was going on about.

"No, I mean are we- you know, as friends- are we okay? You know, since you got your rage out and all." I couldn't help but notice that the corners of his mouth were twitching into a smile. 

"I guess."

"Good. Because I've been meaning to ask you something. The game against Slytherin is on Saturday, and they have a good Seeker. Do you think that maybe, I mean, if you want to and you're not still mad at me, maybe could you help me work on my Wronski Feint?"

"I don't see why not," I shrugged. Glancing down at my watch, I said, "Hey, we have lunch next. Do you want to skip it and go down to the pitch?" 

"Skip lunch? I dunno, Emily…"

"What, you're not afraid to get caught, are you?" 

"No, I'm just hungry." 

I stopped and looked at him, my hands on my hips. Of course, this was all in fun, but I was hoping that maybe he'd be afraid of breaking his nose a second time. 

"Will Tucker," I said, "Do you want to be a good Seeker or not?" He couldn't fight that, and gave in. Soon we were out on the pitch, both holding top of the line brooms. 

"Let me see you go at it," I told him. I would watch from the ground. After a few tries and close shaves, I waved him back to the ground. "Off the top of my head," I said, "I'd say that you're approach is all wrong. You need to get closer to the ground. It looks like you're just diving. I'm not convinced that a Snitch is there. Sorry, mate." 

_Ron…_

I was so sick of dead ends. Samuel Fitzgerald knew nothing. Even after Harry slipped Veritasserum into his water, nothing. Susanne Cummings, Richard Tucker's ex, refused to comment, and once again, we were back at square one. Surprisingly, Tucker's record was spotless. Not even a Muggle parking ticket. His bank account didn't have any record of his huge transaction. Rock bottom was getting pretty familiar. 

The only thing that was making any progress was our profile. Piper Stowe, one of Dad's recommendations, was working with Atticus to determine everything possible about our killer in attempt to compile a list of suspects. 

We were concerned about Halloween. 

"He likes to make a splash," Piper told us, "he demonstrated that at the Ball. Perhaps…perhaps that reflects on his childhood…" she jotted down a note to herself before returning to the rest of the team, "I'd be careful at the Hogwarts feast, if Emily is your main concern. If he's willing to break into a building filled with Ministry officials, then breaking into Hogwarts filled with innocent students shouldn't be a problem." 

So the three of us were there, wands ready, and just itching for some action. No one made a fuss; even the students took it with a grain of salt. Hermione, who until now had been chatting with McGonagall, was pushing her mashed potatoes around on her plate nervously. On the other side of me, Harry was staring at her hands, watching as she made fluffy swirls on her plate. Finally, looking as if he couldn't take anymore, he reached over me and stilled her hand.

"You don't have to be so nervous," he said. "What did the potatoes ever do to you, anyway?" The feeble attempt to make her laugh didn't work, and when he saw this, he shrugged and focused on Emily and Rachel, laughing madly with their friends. Emily and Kyle were the centre of attention, cracking jokes left and right. Everyone was watching the lively Gryffindors, and even Snape had to stifle laughter as Emily demonstrated for everyone who could see her wonderful cosmetic abilities on Kyle. Rather than lipstick, blush and eye shadow, however, she used potatoes, gravy, and treacle pudding. Soon, though, they calmed quite noticeably and began to speak in hushed voices. 

"What's going on over there?" I heard Harry mutter quietly. Kyle and Will got up to leave, finished with their dessert. Then Meghan and Tom left. Obviously, Rachel and Emily would be following. 

_Emily…_

"Hey, everyone," Tom said in a quiet voice. We all leaned in to listen to him. "I've got an idea. Why don't…why don't we see if those rumours are true? You know, about werewolves in the Forbidden Forest?" 

Meghan paled noticeably, and said, "But…but we could get in big trouble… and it's really dangerous…" 

"What's the big deal?" I responded. After all, our family was friends with a werewolf, how bad could it be? 

"I dunno, Emily," Rachel said now. "Uncle Remus is one thing, but…but real werewolves? You know, the kinds that don't take potions? That's a little too scary. Besides, there's…" she lowered her voice even further as she stole a furtive glance around, "there's more than just werewolves in that forest. You've heard the stories, same as I have." 

"Yes, but our parents were magnets for trouble, Rae. We are not hunted by an army of death eaters, are we?" I knew instantly that I shouldn't have said it. As soon as it left my mouth, I was met with the familiar and irrepressible feeling of being watched… by cold, steely grey eyes. I blinked away the apparitions, putting a brave smile back on my face. "Come on." 

Kyle and Will nodded encouragingly as the two girls exchanged glances. 

"I really don't know," Meghan still protested. 

"Don't be such a baby, Meg," Tom said. The glare that she threw him made him regret saying that, so he brilliantly covered with, "I mean that in the best possible way, of course." Even Meghan didn't buy that. "Don't worry! And, if we happen to be attacked by werewolves, I'll be there to protect you." He puffed out his chest as a cocky grin crept up on his face. Meg tried to remain stolid, but she was soon smiling as well.

"All right," she said daringly with a small giggle. 

"Let's go," I whispered standing up with Rachel and Kyle. 

"Wait!" Will commanded, pulling my arm to make me sit. Rachel and Kyle followed suit. "If we all leave now, then they'll know that something's up!" You know, he was very useful to have around, considering that we were friends now. 

"Tom, you and Meghan go first. They'll think you're just going to snog or something." 

Meghan blushed. They weren't officially dating, but everyone knew that it was coming. 

"Maybe you and Kyle should go first," I offered. "If they think that they're going off to a broom closet, then they'll follow; but if they think that they're going off with the two of you, then it won't be a big deal. Rachel and me can follow last." 

Will nodded, and he and Kyle stood to leave. After waiting a bit, Meghan (who was stifling giggles) left with Tom. 

I was about to stand up, when there they were again. The eyes, staring right back at me. I held me breath and closed my eyes. They'd be gone when I opened them again; I just knew that they would. They had to be. 

Sure enough, when I opened them again, I was met by the emerald green eyes of one very anxious looking Rachel Virginia Potter. 

"Come on," she hissed. "The sooner we get this over with, the better." I stood up with her, looking as casual as possible. I even stopped to wave at a few people as we left. 

As we were about to exit the hallway, I heard an explosion rattle through the hall, fallowed by screaming. Confused, I turned to see what was going on, only to be tackled to the ground. 

_Ron…_

Sure enough, Rachel and Emily stood to leave soon after Tom and Meghan left. 

"What's that all about?" I heard Hermione say, leaning in to see our reactions. I wasn't paying attention to her, though. My eyes flicked to one of the high windows where the moon had just emerged from clouds, casting an eerie shadow on the stone floor. The cause of the shadow? A man that I couldn't even see but a silhouette was there in the window with what appeared to be a gun in his hand. It followed Emily as she walked. 

"Shite," I muttered, jumping up from my seat so fast that it tumbled backwards. Harry and Hermione were both confused as I was sprinting across the hall, until Harry saw. He grabbed Hermione's hand in attempt to steady her as she saw the scene playing out in front of her. As I ran, people jumped out of my way and in the case of an unlucky few, were pushed, jostled and sworn at. The only thing on my mind was Emily. I hadn't a clue of what I was doing, only of her safety. When I heard the explosion of the gun, I ran harder than I ever have in my life, adrenaline pumping in my ears. Without thinking twice, I dove at her, both of us falling to the ground. As I rolled off of her, I heard the rush of footsteps behind me. Harry and Hermione immediately knelt down beside her; Landon was on his way. Seeing that she was in good hands, I ran in the direction of the window, swiping the Hufflepuff Quidditch captain's broom. 

_Emily…_

Dad rolled off of me in a split second, and was off. I ignored Mum, Uncle Harry, Landon and Rachel, who were all fussing over me, and craned my neck to see what Dad was doing. 

"Hey," said Uncle Harry, turning my head to look at him. "Keep your eyes open." He shined his wand in my eyes, and I squinted at the direct contact. "Are you all right?" he asked, putting his wand away. Apparently no concussion. I nodded, and he ran off. Instead of stealing a broom, he levitated to the window before jumping out. 

I was still having trouble putting two and two together. Why had Dad jumped on me? I looked up, and there it was. A dart had hit the wall, right where I was standing. No…no…no… this was_ not_ happening. 


	11. Chapter X

**Author's Note: **I sincerely and deeply apologize for the long delay in this chapter. All I have to say is: (a) Don't rush your muse, and (b) death to homework!!! Sometimes, being responsible and prioritising things really sucks. 

**Disclaimer: **I think that you get it by now. I don't own Harry Potter. I never will. I make no money from this, and actually, I pay money for it. The time I spend on AOL costs a monthly bill, correct? And uploading takes time on the Internet, AOL. So, logically, uploading costs me money. 

Chapter X: _A New Lease on Life_

Bleep… bleep… bleep… 

I awoke to the somewhat soothing, but mostly annoying, sound in my ear. What had happened? I remembered running outside… I remembered the hot smell of whiskey on the assailant's breath as I tackled him to the ground in white-hot rage… I remembered hearing countless voices shouting a curse at me…

I sat up with a start, and bared my teeth in pain as all of my muscles contracted, shooting pain throughout my body. I tried to relax and layback down, feeling a soft, cool hand on my forehead. 

"Shhh… be still, Darling, just relax."  

I opened my eyes to meet the two pools of chocolate brown that I could get lost in. 

"You're beautiful," I told her. 

She smiled slightly, and I saw tears swimming in her eyes. She laid her head lightly on my chest. Automatically, my hand reached up to stroke her hair. Automatically, my mouth formed a stupid grin. It was amazing that she could still have that affect on me. I loved being close to her. 

"You scared me, Ron. I don't know what I would have done… If Harry hadn't been there, I- I… Oh!" She sat up, a little too quickly for my liking. "You probably want a drink, don't you?" She turned and poured a glass of water as I carefully sat up. She handed me the glass, all while fluffing the pillows behind me, pulling up a chair, and pouring a glass for herself. "Look at me," she said, wiping the stray tears. "Blubbering like an idiot while you're the one in the hospital bed." She laughed nervously and flipped a rogue curl behind her ear. 

"Everyone's out in the waiting room," she said, trying to fill the silence. "They all came right over, no questions asked. I was the only one allowed in here, though."

I sat the empty glass on the bedside table, and took her hands. 

"Hermione," I began. She knew what I was going to ask, and sure didn't want to talk about it. "What happened?" 

She lowered her gaze, and said, "I… well, I'm not really sure; I didn't see it happen. When you and Harry ran, I was directing the forensics team; but-" she stopped to sniffle- "Harry said that as he was running outside, you were ripping into that bloke pretty bad, completely tooth and nail. No one can find your wand; they've been looking. Anyway, Harry had just barely gotten there when fifteen or so men apparated in. They all hit you with the Cruciatus curse and disapparate before Harry could even think of a curse. And now you're here."

"No one else was hurt?" 

"No," she said, "But Emily's a wreck. She thinks that it's all her fault. You need to talk to her; she doesn't really want to listen to me."

"Is she here? Send her in."

Hermione shook her head. "It's late; I told her that you would be fine and sent her back to school an hour ago. I'll bring her by tomorrow, though." 

I nodded, and grinned as she brushed her soft lips against my forehead, and she crawled up on the bed beside me, resting her head against my chest. 

"When are they letting me out of here?" I asked her. 

"Tomorrow night," she said, snuggling closer. I tightened my arms around her. 

"What if I were to sneak out?" 

She would have bolted upright, had my arms not been clasped around her. "Why?" she asked, trying to sound casual, despite being ready to scold me. 

I readjusted my position, and said, "Knowing Emily, she won't sleep all night until she sees me. You know how she is, Mione. She won't be able to concentrate tomorrow, she'll be tired, probably make herself sick from worrying. And then there's Landon. He'll take it upon himself to convince her that she didn't do a thing, and run himself raw doing it. I know that you were just trying to get things back to normal, but I really want to see them. I want her to know-" 

I stopped abruptly, as a thought entered into my mind. 

"What did you find on that thing?"

"That thing?" Hermione asked, raising her eyes in amusement. "'Thing' covers a rather broad area, Ro-"

"That… _thing_ that he shot at Emily. What did you find on it?" 

"I haven't been allowed in to see. Ron, I have to tell you something." 

"Come on then," I said, pushing back the covers as I pulled off my T-shirt in exchange for a blue button down. "We've got work to do." 

"Ron, really, you shouldn't- I… I have to tell you something."

"Well it can wait, can't it? Come on, Hermione, why are you just sitting there?" I pulled a pair of navy trousers on, took my watch and wedding ring from the bedside table, slipped my shoes on, and started for the door.

"It can't wait, Ron." 

"Well, what is it, then?" 

"The Ministry… the Cabinet voted, and… they've decided that…"

"Decided that what, Hermione?" 

"They've forbidden me from working further on the case." 

Emily… 

"Hey," said a familiar voice from behind me. "It's going to be OK." A pair of brotherly arms encircled me, and I finally let loose the dam of tears that had been threatening to spill since this afternoon. I didn't cry at the hospital. I didn't cry when we came back. I didn't cry when I sat on the window seat, staring at the painting of Dad and I that I had only recently completed. 

"You don't always have to be the strong one," Landon whispered to me. If that was supposed to help, then he certainly should not go into psychiatry. I only sobbed harder. I don't know how long I sat, sobbing into my big brother's chest, but it seemed like an eternity. 

"Landon?" came a voice. "Landon, are you down here?" I looked up and wiped my tears to look into my big brother's face. I saw that his eyes were red as he tried to wipe away the trails of tears that streaked his cheeks as well. He was scared, too.

Charlotte descended the steps, crossing her arms around her dressing gown. She smiled faintly at me.  "D'you wanna come sleep in my room tonight?" 

I nodded.

"There's no extra beds," she said carefully.

"Tha's OK," I said, sniffling. 

"Emily," Landon said, "You really should go to bed now. You've got to go to classes tomorrow. Worrying won't help anything." 

"I won't be able to concentrate tomorrow, Landon; why do I have to go to class?" I whined, the long day evident in my voice.

"Because Mum said. Now go to bed and try not to think about it, OK?" 

"Try not to think about it? Dad could have died tonight, Landon, and it would have been all my-"

"Don't even say it," he said, throwing up his hands. "Dad's getting hurt has nothing to do with you, Emily. Stop being a martyr!" 

I could have slapped him. Had I not felt like I had just been slapped in the face, I would have slapped him. 

"Thanks, Landon," I said, trying to keep my voice under control, "Because _that_ makes me feel a lot better!" 

Charlotte, ever the moderator, took my arm. "Come on, Emily, you really need some rest. Let's go to sleep, all right?" I was too tired to fight back, so I let myself be led up to the seventh years dormitory. Charlotte pulled an extra pillow out of the large armoire in the corner, and placed it on her bed before climbing in. She scooted over as I pulled the covers up to my neck. I let out a shuddering sigh, trying to keep back tears. I knew that I'd end up crying and drew the bed curtains, to muffle the sound. 

In the dark, I heard a voice. "Hey, Em?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Don't get mad, OK? But… I think that Landon… I think that he was sort of right. About what he said. I mean, you shouldn't let yourself be a martyr. That's only what he… that's only what he wants, you know? If you let him get to you- if you let him get inside your head- then he's already won… Emily? Are you awake?" 

I couldn't even answer. I just closed my eyes, letting the tears slowly fall. 

Landon looked a mess the next morning. His hair wasn't brushed, he'd forgotten his Head Boy badge, copper collared stubble was covering his jaw, his clothes were crumpled, and there were bags under his bloodshot eyes. But then again, I can't say that I looked much better. I'd pulled my un-brushed hair into a ponytail and wore yesterday's robes, so I wouldn't have to go face the girls in my dormitory. We Weasleys rise to the occasion.  I sat next to him at breakfast, neither of us talking. 

Nothing needed to be said. 

_Ron…_

"Dad!" Jack ran into my room the next morning, leaping on to the bed and throwing his arms around my neck. I held him tight, being schmaltzy and sentimental, thinking of how I'd almost missed the chance to ever hug my son again. "Dad," he said, pulling back, "Guess what? At school today, we're going to see a real live auror! I told everyone in my class that my dad was the coolest auror ever, even better than Phillip's dad. Phillip's dad is coming to talk to us today, he's a real live auror! But you're way better, Dad, way better. He doesn't even have any of those sticker things on his uniform!"

"Ranks?" I prompted, smiling at his enthusiasm. 

"Yep, he doesn't have any ranks. 'Cause he's not as cool as _you_, Dad." 

"Come on, Jack," said Hermione, striding into the room. "You'll see Daddy later tonight; you're going to be late to school."

"Aw, Mum, do I have to?" 

She gave him one of those looks that could stop the sun, and he sighed. 

"Say goodbye to Daddy." 

"Bye, Dad!" He said, hopping off the bed. "I'll tell Mr. Phillip's Dad just how cool you are, and how you're way better. Don't worry, Dad, I'll tell him!" Jack marched proudly out of the room, carrying a bag that was nearly twice his size, probably filled with Quidditch action figures. Hermione winked at me. 

"Be back later," she said, before being pulled out of the room by Jack (_"Come _on_, Mum! A real live auror!"_)

Hermione was back in fifteen minutes, announcing that she had taken the day off from work. Once again, I pulled back the covers, allowing her to get into the bed beside me. Immediately I was filled with that irresistible warmth that came whenever she was near. I could have laid like that forever, her in my arms, but that nagging feeling was back again.

"Hermione," I said gently.

"No, Ron."

"You know that you have to, Mione. If you let this go, it's going to sit on the desk of some fat and lazy MADD official's desk. If you let this go," I continued as she sat up to stare at me. "If you let this go we could lose Emily." I hadn't expected a lump to rise in my throat, and when I spoke again, my voice was shaking. "We can't take the chance that this will just go away, Hermione. She was nearly killed last night. My daughter will not be killed because some cabinet says that I'm not allowed to protect her anymore. She's just a child, no matter how she may act or what she may think. No one is going to hurt my little girl, Hermione; screw the Ministry." 

That's the beauty of love: you can completely break down in front of your wife and know that she feels exactly the same way that you do. 

 She threw her arms around me, sobbing into my neck. "I just can't do it, Ron," she said. But then she did something curious, just as I felt my temper rising. "Shhh- they're probably listening, or watching… maybe both. We're not safe." 

"Shhh! Will you be quiet? They'll hear us!"

"Sorry…"

"That was my foot!" 

"Sorry… you know what they say about big fe-"

"Shhh!" 

"Sorry." 

"They need to make a roomier model…"

"Or you just need to shut up. Oh, we could get in so much trouble…"

"Calm down."

"Is it this door?" 

"Next one on the left." 

"Careful- it creeks." 

"Alohomora!" 

Hermione darted out from underneath the invisibility cloak, shutting, locking and placing a silencing charm on the door. Quickly she led us down a spiral staircase, quiet not to make any noise with her heels on the metal. We entered a dank, dimly lit, besmirched, low-ceilinged room that looked like it needed a good scrubbing. The linoleum floors were slippery with dust, the paint on the walls had faded from lack of attention, and cobwebs adorned the corners.

"This is the best laboratory we have?" Harry asked, brushing away a cobweb that he had just walked through. 

Hermione smiled wickedly. "There's more to this room than meets the eye." Apparently, that statement doubled as a password, and what appeared to be a rusted shut file drawer disappeared, revealing a small hole in the wall. Slowly, it expanded to form an archway, big enough for us to walk through (though not with Harry and I stooping a little). 

The room opened up to a high tech lab, more so than even the ones that Harry and I had been permitted in. Hermione walked in briskly and over to a file cabinet, cross-referencing Fitzgerald and Weasley until she found the folder that she was looking for. She flipped through until she found the Halloween incident, as it was pretty definite that the cases had been linked, and scanned the page until she found the list of evidence found. She tapped her wand on the page and walked over to one table containing a magically enhanced microscope that could magnify down to the atom. No sooner had Harry and I followed her over than the dart aimed at our daughter was suspended in midair. Hermione slipped on a pair of latex gloves before picking up the piece of evidence. 

"Will you two track down that suspect list for me?" she asked, picking up a magnifying glass. 

As Harry and I tried to sort our way through the long suspect lists, Hermione continued examining the evidence. It wasn't long before we had found everything that we were looking for- it also wasn't long before we were interrupted.

"Oh, excuse me," said a deep voice from behind us. Harry and I dropped what we were doing, instantly whirling around, wands out, standing in between Hermione and this man. "I'm sorry," he said, "I was just doing my night rounds." Upon closer observation, we found that this man was a security guard. "I apologize, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter." Harry and I nodded to him. 

"No problem, Mr.…" Harry faltered, his eyes scanning for a badge or identification. 

"Jones," the man supplied, holding out his hand. "Telemachus Jones." 

"Mr. Jones," I said, now shaking his hand, and slipping him a galleon or two. "See that no one disturbs us again." I held his hand a millisecond longer than necessary, showing him that I meant business. 

He nodded. "Yes, sir. Have a nice night." He smiled a little, and it was a very disturbing smile. One that I had seen before. There was something in his smile that didn't reach his eyes- emotionless eyes. 

When we heard the door shut, I turned to Harry. "I have a bad feeling about that man." 

"I've seen him somewhere." 

"How did he know that we were here? I didn't even know about this place; it certainly can't be in a security guards' night rounds."

"And more importantly," said Harry, "How did he get in here? There are hundreds of locking and unlocking spells. How did he know the specific counter-spell?" 

"Do you think he was following us?" 

"Impossible, we were under the invisibility cloak." 

"Harry…" said Hermione softly.

"In a minute," he told her, before turning back to me. "Maybe it is just a coincidence. Ron, track down the security guards and their rounds." 

"Harry…" 

"Hold on, Hermione. See if you can find a 'Jones' on the security list at all. There's something about that man. No ID… he just gives me a bad feeling."

"Right," I said, turning. 

"Harry!" 

"What?" He asked, frustrated, turning to her finally. But when he did, his eyes widened. She was ghostly white, her eyes wide, and her hand trembling. 

"Come look at this," she said, her voice deathly afraid. "Come look at this and tell me that I'm not going crazy. Tell me that you see it, too. Or tell me that I _am_ crazy, I'd rather be crazy and wrong that sane and right. Tell me you see it, Harry, and tell me what to do." 

_Oh no…_I thought. When she doesn't make any sense, she's either figured something out or something serious has gone wrong. 

"Track down that payroll for me, Ron," Harry said, crossing to where Hermione was. He took off his glasses, sliding the weapon under the lens of the microscope. He took a minute to focus and neither of us moved. But when he stood up, his mouth was open slightly, and he was wearing a look identical to Hermione's. 

"What is it?" I asked, payroll forgotten.

"What are we going to do, Harry?" asked Hermione, ignoring me.

"I… I don't know. But we're in over our heads." 

"What's going on?" I asked again, confused.

"We can't ask for help," Hermione reasoned, "We're not supposed to be here in the first place. They'll throw us in Azkaban." 

"I… I don't know what to do," said Harry, putting his glasses back on, and running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I just don't know." 

"What is it?" I demanded, pushing by the two of them and peering for myself into the microscope. I focused slightly, and all I saw was six fine lines engraved in the metal- crossing each other and shooting off from the ends. I was confused, but I had seen this before. 

"Hermione, what is this?" 

She swallowed hard. "Are you sure that you want to hear?" 

**A/N: **Hey guys, that was fun. I love cliffhangers. Sorry, again, that this took so long. Just a little bit of a warning, this will be getting more intense in the future chapters. Have fun, though! 


	12. Chapter X ct'd

Chapter X ct'd: _Lessons from the Phoenix_

_"Oh, excuse me," said a deep voice from behind us. Harry and I dropped what we were doing, instantly whirling around, wands out, standing in between Hermione and this man. "I'm sorry," he said, "I was just doing my night rounds." Upon closer observation, we found that this man was a security guard. "I apologize, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter." Harry and I nodded to him. _

_"No problem, Mr.…" Harry faltered, his eyes scanning for a badge or identification. _

_"Jones," the man supplied, holding out his hand. "Telemachus Jones." _

_"Mr. Jones," I said, now shaking his hand, and slipping him a galleon or two. "See that no one disturbs us again." I held his hand a millisecond longer than necessary, showing him that I meant business. _

_He nodded. "Yes, sir. Have a nice night." He smiled a little, and it was a very disturbing smile. One that I had seen before. There was something in his smile that didn't reach his eyes- emotionless eyes. _

_When we heard the door shut, I turned to Harry. "I have a bad feeling about that man." _

_"I've seen him somewhere." _

_"How did he know that we were here? I didn't even know about this place; it certainly can't be in a security guards' night rounds."_

_"And more importantly," said Harry, "How did he get in here? There are hundreds of locking and unlocking spells. How did he know the specific counter-spell?" _

_"Do you think he was following us?" _

_"Impossible, we were under the invisibility cloak." _

_"Harry…" said Hermione softly._

_"In a minute," he told her, before turning back to me. "Maybe it is just a coincidence. Ron, track down the security guards and their rounds." _

_"Harry…" _

_"Hold on, Hermione. See if you can find a 'Jones' on the security list at all. There's something about that man. No ID… he just gives me a bad feeling."_

_"Right," I said, turning. _

_"Harry!" _

_"What?" He asked, frustrated, turning to her finally. But when he did, his eyes widened. She was ghostly white, her eyes wide, and her hand trembling. _

_"Come look at this," she said, her voice deathly afraid. "Come look at this and tell me that I'm not going crazy. Tell me that you see it, too. Or tell me that I am crazy, I'd rather be crazy and wrong that sane and right. Tell me you see it, Harry, and tell me what to do." _

Oh no…_I thought. When she doesn't make any sense, she's either figured something out or something serious has gone wrong. _

_"Track down that payroll for me, Ron," Harry said, crossing to where Hermione was. He took off his glasses, sliding the weapon under the lens of the microscope. He took a minute to focus and neither of us moved. But when he stood up, his mouth was open slightly, and he was wearing a look identical to Hermione's. _

_"What is it?" I asked, payroll forgotten._

_"What are we going to do, Harry?" asked Hermione, ignoring me._

_"I… I don't know. But we're in over our heads." _

_"What's going on?" I asked again, confused._

_"We can't ask for help," Hermione reasoned, "We're not supposed to be here in the first place. They'll throw us in Azkaban." _

_"I… I don't know what to do," said Harry, putting his glasses back on, and running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I just don't know." _

_"What is it?" I demanded, pushing by the two of them and peering for myself into the microscope. I focused slightly, and all I saw was six fine lines engraved in the metal- crossing each other and shooting off from the ends. I was confused, but I had seen this before. _

_"Hermione, what is this?" _

_She swallowed hard. "Are you sure that you want to hear?" _

"Yes, of course I want to know," I said. "What's going on, Hermione?" 

"You'd better sit down," said Harry, pulling up a stool for him and me. Hermione perched herself on the table. 

"What do you know about World War II?" she asked. 

I shook my head blankly.

"Oy," said Harry, "This'll be harder than I thought." I shot him a glare that should have lightened up the mood, and would have in normal circumstances, but he wasn't paying attention to me. 

"Nazis? Hitler? Anything?" Hermione prompted. Still, I shook my head.

Harry adjusted his angle to face me. "You know about the Hybrid Mafia, don't you?" 

"Refresh my memory, tell me how it relates to Muggle history and the thing on that dart." I said, crossing my arms. 

"The Hybrid Mafia," Hermione began, sounding like a textbook, "Consists of wizards- Neo-Death Eaters, most often, Muggles- those that are involved with the mafia in New York, Italy, Chicago, Moscow, and other major cities; many Russians who still believe and strive for communism, and some Neo-Nazis still left in the world. They all have one goal, and that is to rid the world of all who aren't like them. Jews, "Mudbloods", general minorities, and countless other groups."

"What they don't realize, though," Harry took over, "Is that virtually, they would kill of each other, as well, as they don't fit into their "perfect" stereotypes. It's a money and power hungry bureaucracy, really. The wizards in the group use the imperious curse to control the scum of the underworld to do their dirty work, promptly… er… _disposing_ of them."

"Follow us?" 

"Yes," I said, "but how does this relate to the case?" I asked. 

"You saw that insignia on there, didn't you?" Hermione asked. I nodded as she continued, "That's a swastika. The symbol of the Nazis in World War II, and the symbol that the Hybrid Mafia has adopted for themselves. It's the first major clue that we can actually use, similar to the Dark Mark."

"Why don't they just use the Dark Mark?" I asked.

"Because the Wizards all know what it means," Hermione replied, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. "But not many of us, except the targets, know what a swastika is."

"All right, so we must know who these people are. Just trace their history to see if it has to do with Fitzgerald, and there ya have it."

"But we don't know who they are," Harry said. "It's not just criminals, as you'd think. They've infiltrated the governments and agencies- The Magical Ministry and the Muggle Ministry, the CIA, the-"

"The point _is,_" Hermione interrupted, "Is that the three of us can't beat an underground organization _as_ an underground organization, do you see? We can't take them out; there's no way. We're stuck, unless we're somehow able to lead the Ministry to it."

I awoke early the next morning, just dying to escape the confines of my dormitory. Quickly, I dressed warmly and grabbed my camera, escaping from the smell of perfume, the colour pink and my friends. Technically, it isn't against the rules to be awake before breakfast, it's just that nobody ever is.  I walked down a floor to a place that many people walk by every day, and tend to overlook. On the second floor there is a corridor of Transfiguration classrooms. At the end of the hall, there are large bay windows. This happens to be right below Gryffindor Tower. What I noticed once was that the windows open up to a balcony, offering an amazing view of the grounds. 

I didn't quite know what was better in these days: being in a room full of people, and being completely alone, or being completely alone in both respects. I had lapsed back into my inky black mood that had taken hold during the summer holidays, trapped in my own dark thoughts, and hating every second. There was no escape from an inky black mood- well, at least not a legal one. 

Sometimes, I figure that life is like a picture. Sometimes, it's a still-frame- all pieced together perfectly, the right lighting, good technique. You can tell exactly what it is at a glance. Sometime, thought, you can have a poorly shot picture that's blurry, and requires closer inspection. And other times, it's an action shot (like Dad being thrown from a horse) that requires a whole lot of scrutiny before you can figure out that that streak of fiery red is someone's head, and not the sun exploding. And then there's those times when it's abstract- not even a photograph at all. Just shapes and blobs arranged in ways that make sense only in the minds of the creator. 

And then there are those times- those beautiful, perfect times that can only be understood by a true artist- when you find the shot that moves you to tears at the sheer simplicity of it all- the beauty, the wonder, the depth, and the magnitude of the world captured in just one brief moment is enough to floor you, feeling completely content (like right after Grandmum's Christmas dinner) and yet, so completely empty and wanting more but loving the feeling anyway. You gain and lose the world in that moment. 

I have to confess, I didn't quite get that last metaphor on my own. Mum used it just two or three years ago when I had asked her a question that I was sure that she would know the answer to. Even she was at a loss for words at first. 

I chuckled at the memory of it. It was the first time I had laughed in days, and was very grateful for the distraction.

"Mum?" I had asked, as shy and timid as I ever got. "Can I come in?" It was after hours at school, and I certainly wasn't allowed out of bed. But when you're eleven years old and the world is crumbling down around you, you don't really think about how pissed your mother is going to be when she finds you disobeying the rules. 

"You're not supposed to be out of bed," she said, without missing a beat. "What's wrong, Love?" 

I sighed at the word. Love. I trudged into her office, poured myself a cup of the tea that she constantly kept brewing, and sat wearily down into a large and very comfortably armchair. 

"Mum? How do you know…" I trailed off. Oh, this was embarrassing. I hated talking to my mother about anything… too girly and… you know, personal. 

She sensed my uneasiness, as only a mother can do, and set her quill aside, ready to give me her undivided attention. "How do you know what?" She stood and poured herself some tea and sat in the armchair adjacent to mine, without her cumbersome desk as a barrier between the two of us. 

"How do you know," I continued, turning redder than my hair, "How do you know that you're… mineraugh."  

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that last part. How do you know that you're… a mineral?" 

I giggled softly.

"A minister?" 

A bit harder…

"My rug?" 

Still harder. "No, that's not it," I said, thinking that she needed a little help if she wanted to get out of here anytime soon. I wouldn't realize until later that she knew exactly what I was saying, but waiting for me to tell her. Or maybe she was just trying to make me lighten up and not be so embarrassed. Or maybe both. Whatever her motives, she was amazing. 

"Well are you going to tell me, or will I have to spend the whole night guessing?" 

My blush was back, but not quite at the same extent. "Well… how did you feel when you were in love with Dad? You know, when you were younger?" 

She laughed, until the implications of the question set in, and she sobered quite quickly. "Where is this coming from, Emily?"

"Oh, you know," I said, "Just… curious." 

She sat back and inhaled shakily, as if debating on how exactly to answer such a trivial question. "First off," she said, after she finally spoke, "I still _am_ in love with your father. I always will be. I-"

"But how do you _know_?" I interrupted. This was bad enough to be asking, I didn't want to hear all of the sappy stuff about her and Dad. 

"How do I know what?" 

"That you're… in… _love_," I said, with great effort. 

"When you are Emily, you'll know." 

I sighed and pouted in a way reminiscent of when I was seven, missing my two front teeth and being forced to eat vegetables. "That's what Aunt Ginny said," I muttered. 

Mum raised an eyebrow. "Aunt Ginny?" 

"Rachel asked her for me," I explained. "We wanted more than one opinion. Just in case." I thought I saw the corners of her mouth curve upward slightly as she sat forward, resting her elbows on her knees. I matched her position, so our faces were mere inches away from each other and I could look into her eyes, just to make sure that she was telling me the truth. You never can be too sure when it comes to your parents. 

"My little girl… I'm so proud of you. You're growing up, Emily," she said. It seemed almost sad. It also sounded like she wasn't intending to answer my question.

"That's great, Mum, you too. Now… love?" 

She smiled and sat up. And thus, the excellent metaphor involving the best thing in the world, being photography, of course, and the scariest, love being the only choice left, was born. It could only have been better had the Chudley Cannons been involved somehow. For some reason, though, I just can't see _my_ mother saying, "You know, Emily, love is like the Chudley Cannons." 

Now _that_ was a mental image involving the best and scariest things in the world. 

It was so good to be away from the present sometimes- to be lost in your thoughts and memories. I'm sure that Professor Dumbledore would argue the same thing. He had shown me the Pensieve in his office once. Ever since then, I'd longed to have one of my own to keep my memories alive and in tact for me to wander through whenever I wanted to. Of course, I wasn't an idiot. I knew what the downside of that would be, and, quite frankly, I preferred not to think about it.

I saw Hagrid open the door to his hut and take a big breath of the morning air. He strode with the ever-present jolly bounce in his step to enter the school, and I knew that there was only one thing that could get Hagrid up this early in the morning, and that was food. If I wanted to keep my spot a secret, I'd have to leave now before everyone else passed by my spot. 

I slid down of the railing and was about to climb through the window when something bright caught my eye. Immediately, my hands fumbled for my camera as I searched the sky until I found it. 

A huge bird, much bigger than should be flying with such dexterity- was circling the sky and singing in strange, but remarkably beautiful, ethereal tones an undistinguishable melody. As the sun peaked out from behind a cloud, I was able to get a good look at it. It was a mouldy shade of red, and looked dried up, ready to collapse at any moment. In fact, it was apparently slowly unravelling, as its' strange red feathers were falling from its' wings as I watched. I quickly snapped picture after picture, amazed at whatever this was. Then, without warning, the bird was gone in a burst of flames. I screamed at the shock of it, completely unhinged. It was the weirdest thing that I'd ever seen, and certainly not something that I'd forget soon. I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to, at that. 

I quickly scrambled through the window, anxious not to be seen. 

I took my now usual seat next to Landon, Charlotte and James in the Great Hall, waiting with the rest of the students for food to appear in the golden platters before us. The House Elves must have been running late, though, because owls swooped in before we were eating. Surprisingly, I got more than my usual letters from Mum (and Dad as of late), Jack, or random fans. A beautiful snowy owl landed in front of me, and left after I removed the letter, not accepting any tip. Interesting. I opened the letter, and read the large, loopy handwriting: 

_Dear Miss Weasley,_

_Please stop by my office today during your usual Care of Magical Creatures Lesson. I would be delighted to speak with you, and have tea piping hot for your arrival. I trust that you know the location of my office. This week's password is _'Peach Tartlet'_. I shall see you this afternoon. _

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Dumbledore, Headmaster. _

Later that afternoon, I slowly walked to Professor Dumbledore's office, butterflies fluttering around. It wasn't as if this man was a stranger to me, but that doesn't take away from the fact that, hey- this man is _Albus Dumbledore_. That's pretty big. I timidly knocked on his door. No answer. Again, and there was no reply. I pushed the door open in a feet of daring and stepped inside. No one seemed to be there, but a few things caught my eye. First was the Pensieve. I would have loved to dive inside and find the answers to all of life's problems, because after all, Professor Dumbledore _has_ all of the answers. But I had a feeling that he would tell me that one of life's problems was figuring out the answers to life's problems on your own, and I couldn't just give up from the get go. Secondly, I saw the golden birdcage that I had seen on many occasions before. But this time, there was something in it. I saw red plumage scattered around the floor around it, and sitting on the perch inside was the bird that I had seen earlier that day, but much worse for the wear. It appeared to be teetering on the edge of falling asleep and falling unconscious. Maybe there wasn't a difference, though. I stepped closer, my curiosity piqued. I knelt down and set my bag on the floor, pushing books, my wand, and various paintbrushes and sketchbooks out of the way until I found my shrunken camera. I quickly muttered a spell and began snapping pictures left and right. 

I didn't hear anyone come in. 

"Interesting bird, isn't he?" 

I spun around quickly, coming face to face with the Headmaster. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to-"

"Nonsense," he said, smiling. "Glad that Fawkes here could fuel your creativity. Have a seat, Emily," he said, conjuring a chair for me to sit in. "Tea?" He chuckled to himself. "Of course. And you'll be wanting honey in it, like your mother?" 

"Yes, sir," I said, reluctantly sitting, and keeping my eyes on the peculiar bird. "Sir, what does that inscription mean? The one on the door to the cage?" 

"_Rara avis in terris,"_ he repeated, "'a rare bird on earth', in Latin," he turned and winked at me, "which I trust that you knew. If I understand correctly, you knew Latin when you were quite younger, before your schooling."

I smiled faintly. "Yes, sir, my mum taught me some. I haven't used it in a long time; it's just a bit rusty." 

"Dangerous in the magical world," he said, handing me a saucer. "However, Miss Weasley, I have not called you here to discuss Fawkes or your limited knowledge of Latin."

"Yes, sir." 

"If I may be frank, Emily, I'm quite worried about you."

I was just a little taken aback at his statement, and stared at him blankly. "Come again, sir?" In a school this big, why would he be worried about me? 

"Your academics have not been up to their usual standard. Which, might I add, were not up to your potential, but we won't get into that now. Now, I understand that you're going through a difficult time, but that is no excuse for poor marks."

"But, Professor, I-"

"Playing the martyr has always been below you, Emily, why start now? I know that you're worried about your father. He's a good friend; I'm worried myself. But don't let yourself fall prey to anxiety." He continued to stare at me, unblinking, as if waiting for my reaction, but I gave none. It took me a few seconds to realize that he wasn't staring at me, but through me, lost in thoughts. "You know," he continued, after some time, "You really can learn a lesson from Fawkes, here. Every now and then, when it's their time to die, their health slowly diminishes, and they die by bursting into flames. Then they rise again, you see, come alive, from the ashes. Watch him." I watched as the bird flopped over and fell off the perch. Three seconds later, the glow of fire filled the room. I jumped up in horror, and walked closer as the flames died down. 

"Give him time," Professor Dumbledore said, rising and coming to stand next to me. "Do you see what I'm saying?" 

No… "Yes, sir." 

He raised his thick eyebrows, quite clearly not buying it. He placed a grandfatherly hand on my shoulder. "Rise from the ashes, Emily. Don't wallow in them. Make yourself new and beautiful again. Begin anew. Learn from your mistakes and move on; don't dwell in the past." 

I smiled faintly and watched, as a small grey lump was moving around at the bottom of the cage. Slowly, the lump took form- a beak, head, wings and body. It hopped around, but I didn't quite see what the Headmaster meant about becoming beautiful again. This thing was still as ugly as shite. I looked up at him, questioningly. 

"Come back and see me in three or four days, Emily. Tell me what you've learned, and I'll teach you something new. Maybe we'll both learn something from Fawkes, here."

I nodded, and he smiled, taking my saucer from my hands. I knelt down to shrink my camera and place it back in my bag. When I stand, Professor Dumbledore was holding the door open for me. I smiled at him, and began to leave, but he stopped me with a kind hand on my shoulder. 

"You're always a pleasure, Emily. Rise from the ashes."

If only I knew how to go about doing that.

**Author's note: **Gaah! I know, this took forever. Although this took awhile and was pretty frustrating, I think that the final outcome was all right- I'm rather proud of the Emily and Dumbledore scene. Sorry bout the wait, though. Things shall become more regular, I hope. Midterms coming up soon, so maybe I lied. We'll see. Thanks, constant reviewers. I appreciate the encouragement a lot! 


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